


Strays

by AngelOfTheMoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Corruption, Crime, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Prostitute Meg, Slow Build, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 84,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7342768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfTheMoor/pseuds/AngelOfTheMoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way home late one night, Castiel stumbles upon an injured woman. He brings her home to tend to her wounds. But the woman, Meg, is a former prostitute with deep connections to unsavory characters, and her life is in danger. Soon, Castiel and his boyfriend Dean are drawn into Meg’s world, the underbelly that secretly rules town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ doesn't belong to me.
> 
> Thanks to [consultingcas](http://consultingcas.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this!
> 
> Well, here goes . . . 
> 
> This fic begins with established Destiel, but the relationship will eventually become a polyamorous one with Dean, Cas, and Meg.
> 
> Warning for continuous mentions and discussions of prostitution work. 
> 
> Nothing too explicit in this chapter except for gruesome injuries, but there will eventually be more graphic content. Meg has been through a lot, and the people she's associated with are ruthless. Chapters will have applicable warnings in the beginning. At this point, I'm not sure what warnings will be needed, so if you're worried, I'd suggest waiting for the story to become more fully developed before reading.
> 
> Additional tags will be added as they become pertinent. 
> 
> Meg's POV is not present in this chapter, but it'll appear regularly in the fic.
> 
> I'm nervous about this fic since it's Destiel plus one. I'd love if you gave it a chance! As always, thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are welcome and much appreciated.

Cas has a habit of picking up strays. He brings them home, nurses them back to health, feeds them, whatever, until they’re whole then finds a place for them. Dogs, cats, rabbits, squirrels, birds, hell, even a fox once.

Dean should’ve figured it was only a matter of time before he came home with a person.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel glances at the clock on his desk and does a double take. 12:03. When had it become so late? He’d gotten so lost in grading his students’ papers that time had ceased to register.

Dean must be worried sick. Why hasn’t he called?

One peak at his phone, and he knows the answer. It’s dead.

He should hurry home before Dean calls the police. He stacks the papers in a pile, shoves them into his briefcase, and exits the office. As he locks the door, his eyes snag on the nameplate, the _Dr. Castiel Novak_ etched in plain letters over a copper background. He’d been ABD forever, and sometimes he still can’t believe he’d finally finished his dissertation.

Dean had teared up at commencement, even if he denies it to this day. Though he never ceases to remind Castiel of how proud he is of _his smart-ass genius boyfriend_.

His Lincoln Continental sits forlorn in the middle of the enormous parking lot. It’s eerie, being here alone in the dark, but the preternatural stillness also brings him an odd sense of peace.

After he unlocks the door, he tosses his briefcase in the front seat, sweeps a hand through his hair, and puts on his seatbelt. He turns the key in the ignition and pulls out onto the road.

Driving on autopilot, he’s almost nodded off when he spots a woman’s body sprawled out, her legs lying in the path of his car. He slams on the brakes and steers to the left. His bumper rams the curb, and he winces. It’s no big deal, though. What’s more concerning is the woman, whose body is still. He prays she’s not dead.

The streetlight highlights the brown hair fanned out behind her. Her brown eyes, one of them surrounded by a bruise, track him warily. She’s not dead, then. Thank God.

But she desperately needs a hospital. Her red blouse is torn, a bruised shoulder peaking out. A black skirt reaches to the tops of her thighs, which are littered with gashes. Cuts adorn her arms and legs. Blood drips down her chin from several cuts on her lips, and more blood leaks from a gaping wound on her temple.

Yes, he’ll take her to the hospital. He scoops her into his arms, and she hisses at the pain.

“What’re you doin’?” she slurs.

“You’ll be okay,” Castiel assures her. With one hand, he finagles the car’s back door open then drapes Meg on the seat.

“Where’re we going?”

“The hospital.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re not taking me to any damn hospital.”

“You require medical attention.”

“I’ll live.”

“A doctor will ensure that.”

She shrugs then grimaces. “I’ve had worse.”

What? “You should still go to the hospital.”

“Fuck that.”

He doesn’t understand. Why wouldn’t she want to see a doctor?

“I won’t let you take me.”

“You’re in my car. I’m taking you.”

She kicks him in the groin with one stilettoed heel, and he staggers backward at the blow. The pain is intense.

“If you try to drag me into a hospital, I’ll do it again.” She raises her eyebrows in a challenge, her eyes stony.

He can’t bring her into the hospital kicking and screaming. There’s no telling what people would think.

Rather than answering her, he slips into the front seat and resumes driving.

“Did you hear me?” she shouts.

“Yes.”

“I’m serious.”

He believes her, but he’s still puzzled. He stows his confusion away for the time being, however, and focuses on helping the woman even if her attitude makes no sense. And she’s rude.

“I know,” Castiel replies. “We’re not going to the hospital.”

“Good boy.”

“I am not a dog,” he snaps. He immediately reprimands himself for the waspish response. He should be doing everything he can to soothe the injured woman, not antagonize her.

But to his surprise, the woman guffaws. “So. Where are you taking me? Your sex dungeon?”

He ignores her sarcasm. “Home.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“ _No_.”

“Yeesh. Can’t you take a joke?’

“Aren’t you concerned about your injuries?”

“’Course I am. Doesn’t mean I can’t amuse myself.”

Soon, they reach the apartment complex. Castiel finds a parking spot, picks the woman up, and carries her upstairs.

“Cas, thank God, I—” Dean greets him when he shoves the door open. He stares, green eyes wide and unblinking, when he notices the woman in Castiel’s arms. “What the fuck?”

“Move, Dean,” Castiel grits out. Dean is lying on the black leather couch, and Castiel needs to put the woman down.

Dean stands up and scowls. “Who the fuck is this?” Castiel lays the woman on the sofa.

“Nice to meet you, too,” the woman snips, her head lolling against the armrest.

Dean ignores her. “Seriously, what’s she doin’ here? She needs a hospital.”

“No hospitals,” the woman objects.

Dean glances at her then turns back to Castiel. “That why you brought her here? We should get her to a hospital.”

“I’ll scream bloody murder if you do,” the woman hisses.

“She is quite intent on not visiting a hospital,” Castiel says.

Dean snorts. “I can see that. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?” Castiel shrugs. “Do you even know her name?’

“It’s Meg,” the woman mumbles.

“What?”

“Meg!”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Great. We know jack shit about this ‘Meg.’”

Castiel eyes the injured woman—Meg. “Shut up,” he tells Dean.

“Excuse me?”

Castiel gives Dean a meaningful look. “We can discuss this later. After we attend to her wounds.” He studies Meg. “We need gauze, isopropyl alcohol, a towel . . . maybe other things from the first-aid kit.” He realizes that he knows little about how to treat Meg, and he panics for a moment. He takes a deep breath, tells himself to calm down. Without a cool head, he won’t be of much use. He can do this. He’s tended to wounded animals before, and he’s read enough about basic first aid to understand how to proceed.

“Okay,” Dean replies, but he remains stationary despite Castiel’s suggestions.

“Can you bring them to me?” Castiel prompts.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Dean leaves the room and quickly returns with the requested items.

Castiel tries to determine where to begin. “This will probably hurt,” he warns Meg.

“No shit,” she retorts.

With Dean’s (reluctant) help, Castiel cleans the blood from Meg’s body, disinfects the gashes and cuts. Wraps gauze around her temple and presses Band-Aids over the other slashes.

He studies her ruined clothing. “Would you like to wear something more comfortable?”

“Not if it means you’ll be changing my clothes.”

Castiel frowns. “Can you stand?”

Meg clambers to her feet but slumps against the sofa a moment later. “It hurts.” Her eyes close.

“Would you like me to bring you something for later, perhaps?”

“Mmhmm.”

Castiel heads to the bedroom and comes back with a blue T-shirt and plaid lounge pants. “They’ll be too big for you, but they’re clean.”

“Thanks.” Meg drifts off.

Dean follows him to the bedroom, where he strips down to his undershirt and boxers.

“Cas, what the hell?” Dean fumes.

“What?”

“You’re acting like this is a completely normal night. I’ve been worried sick about you and then you bring home this strange woman . . . what the fuck is going on?”

“I stayed late grading,” Castiel explains. “I saw her on the way home. I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“That’s what hospitals are for.”

“She refused the hospital.”

“So? You have no obligation to her. You could just drop her off and—”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

Castiel crawls under the covers. “Because. She threatened me.”

Dean tears off his jeans. “And you thought this was the type of person you should bring home?”

“I couldn’t leave her.”

Dean tosses his plaid overshirt onto the carpet and joins Castiel in bed. “Dude, she’s not your responsibility.”

“I found her; it’s my duty to help.”

“Cas—she, she’s not like one of your animals. She’s a _person_ —”

“Yes.—”

“And we know nothing about her.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“She could be dangerous, Cas.”

Castiel rolls to his side and presents his back to Dean. “That is no reason to leave her for dead.”

“Her injuries weren’t life-threatening.”

“She was halfway in the road, Dean! She could’ve been run over.” He pauses. “You are being an—an assbutt.”

Dean snuffles a short laugh against Castiel’s neck, brushes his lips over the skin. “’m sorry, Cas. I just don’t want you to be taken advantage of.” He wraps his arms around Castiel.

“I am not an imbecile.”

“’Course not. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Soon, Dean’s breath evens out. But even though Dean sleeps, Castiel achieves little rest. He’s worried about Meg. She won’t die, thank goodness, but for some reason he feels a sense of foreboding.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Dean wakes up, the other side of the bed is cold. It’s Saturday, so he’s off at the construction site. He decides to allow himself to linger in bed when last night comes crashing into his consciousness.

 _Shit_.

Cas had brought home some strange woman . . . someone named Meg. She’d been beaten pretty badly, and he’d been right to help her. Still, her opposition to the hospital had struck Dean as odd. Something about her’s not on the up and up.

He rolls out of bed and shuffles into the kitchen, where Cas (clad only in boxers and a white T-shirt, hair adorably sticking up every which way) is flipping pancakes. Cas flashes him a small smile as Dean moves through to the living room.

There’s no sign of Meg. Hopefully that means she’s gone.

He plops onto the sofa and tunes the TV to the local news channel. He zones out as the anchor elaborates on the mayor’s plan to revitalize the city with new facilities and parks. He smells bacon, and his stomach rumbles.

When a familiar face appears on the TV, Dean almost chokes on his own breath.

A brunette woman stares dispassionately into the camera. _Meg Masters_ , the caption says. Wanted for attempted murder and robbery. It had occurred last night, not far from the university where Cas works.

He’d known that bitch was bad news.

The anchor moves on to the weather, and Dean thanks his lucky stars that Meg’s gone.

Except she’s not.

She strolls into the living room now, wearing the T-shirt and pants Cas gave her last night. The baggy clothes look comical on her. Fresh gauze covers her temple, and she rubs at her damp hair with a towel.

She’s almost pretty, Dean notes idly, especially without the garish amount of makeup she’d had on last night, her brown eyes nearly soft.

But they harden with scorn when they meet his. “What’re you staring at?” she hurls at him.

“Um.” She’s kind of scary, almost like a feral animal.

Shit. There’s a would-be murderer in the apartment. What’s he supposed to do?

Cas pops his head into the living room. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Cas. Um,” Dean stammers. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

“We can do it over breakfast.”

“It’s kinda important.”

“It’s about me, isn’t it?” Meg interjects.

Dean’s mouth goes dry. What if she tries to kill him and Cas? “Uh. Yeah,” he manages to respond.

“Out with it, then.”

“Meg here—” He nods at the woman. “—is wanted for attempted murder. And robbery.”

Cas squints at him, and Dean squirms under the intense gaze. “That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. It’d explain why she didn’t want to go to the hospital.”

“She had nothing on her person, Dean. And from the way she looks, it’s more likely that someone attempted to murder her.”

“Maybe it was self-defense.”

Cas snorts. “A bit overboard for self-defense, don’t you think?”

Good point. But there’s still something suspicious about Meg.

“Could we _please_ not talk about me like I’m not in the room?” Meg inserts.

Cas blushes. “Sorry.” Dean just glares at her.

“I knew they’d get to me somehow,” Meg mutters to herself.

“What?” Cas says.

Meg rolls her eyes. “Nothing.”

“Tell me,” Dean scrapes out, “why I shouldn’t take you to the cops right now.”

She shrugs. “Maybe you should.”

“No,” Cas puts in. He places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Tell us what happened. Please. Perhaps we can help.” Cas turns to Dean with pleading puppy-dog eyes, and damn if he can ever resist those.

“Fine,” Meg responds after a moment. “But can we do this over breakfast?” A tense silence fills the air, and Meg sighs. “What? I’m frickin’ starving.”

Finally, Cas nods. “All right.” Dean and Meg follow him into the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence. Also, explicit description of Meg's experience in prostitution.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

She’s not merely starving. Truth is, Meg is fucking _famished_.

She can’t remember the last time she ate. Two days ago, maybe? Crowley had been pushing Dad hard, which meant Dad had been merciless with her.

_Fergus Crowley needs the money soon_ , Dad had explained. _If he doesn’t get it, we’re both dead_.

So she’d let those men fuck her, countless men, a freakin’ marathon.

It hurt. It made her sick, hate herself even more than she did.

She’d been nothing but a fucktoy since she’d turned sixteen, and she was just _over it_.

She’d been over it since it’d begun, of course, but last night, something in her just snapped.

She’d allowed it for so long, hoping to prove herself to Dad. He’s always been all she has, but he’s never shown anything but disdain for her.

Problem is, she couldn’t just walk away unscathed. No, she knows too much. It goes up to the top, to Mayor Alastair Badham, who himself has higher connections, and—

And her own dad had beat her to within an inch of her life.

It had shocked her, though upon reflection, why should it? He’s the kind of man who pimps out his own daughter.

As she sits down at the kitchen table, her mouth waters at the smell of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She scarfs it down as she tries to figure out what to tell the men whose apartment she’s in.

The—menacing one? no, skeptical, and boy, she gets it—his name is Dean—pauses in chewing his bacon and gapes at her. The one who’d brought her here, Cas, gazes at her with sympathy, and she can’t take that shit, so she looks back at Dean, who’s been mostly an ass to her, but that she understands.

Seriously. There must be something wrong with that Cas guy. No one’s that _nice_. Unless they want something. Or are just plain stupid.

Cas clears his throat. “I just realized that we never introduced ourselves. I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m Castiel. And my boyfriend here is Dean.”

“So I’d gathered,” Meg replies. She inwardly winces at her sarcastic tone. But when has civility ever gotten her anywhere?

So Cas is Castiel. “That’s an angel name,” she realizes. Both men raise their eyebrows at her. “Angel of Thursday, am I right?”

Cas purses his lips in confusion. “Yes. How did you—no one knows that.”

“I went through an occult phase. Got to know a lot about that kinda stuff.”

“So,” Dean interrupts, “you gonna tell us your story or what?”

She doesn’t want to tell Dean shit. But Cas—she knows it’s dumb, but something inside her wants to be honest with him. No one’s trustworthy, of course, but still. Despite his ominous gravelly voice, something in his eyes is kind and gentle. _No one’s kind and gentle_ , she thinks, but she wants to believe Cas is. Maybe it’s the vivid blue of his eyes that make them seem so open. She shouldn’t let that trick her.  

But there’s something so endearingly naïve about him, in the way his hair is so messed up, like taming it hadn’t even occurred to him.

She has this weird urge to reach forward and smooth it down.

_Dumb_.

When she leaves this apartment, she’s dead. Why not tell the truth?

Dean and Cas will hear everything.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Meg closed her eyes when the latest john left. Her hair was caked with sweat. Still, she shivered. Her legs were still splayed wide, and she didn’t close them or smooth down the hiked-up skirt. No use pretending she was the prim and proper type. Her pussy was all she was to her dad, to the world._

_Dad tossed a towel on her chest. “Clean yourself up,” he commanded._

_She pulled the towel to her face, resting her cheek on the soft surface. She sighed into the cloth. Was it finally over? Thank fuck._

_“We can’t have you looking strung out when Alastair comes.”_

_Her eyes flew open, and something inside her cringed. “Alastair is coming?” She hated that her voice squeaked. She was not that kind of girl, a damn coward. She was not. She was not._

_So she kept repeating to herself._

_“We’ve got business to discuss. And he’s gonna wanna take a tumble with you.”_

_“Whatever,” she mumbled. She lumbered off the bed (which she hated, hated that she had to regularly share it with men, all at Dad’s whim, that she was deprived of autonomy in that area) and shuffled toward the bathroom. She stripped, stepped into the tub, and turned on the shower._

_She let the water soak her hair, soothe her back._

_Then for some damn reason, she began to shake._

_Stop it! she commanded her body. But the motion only became more violent._

_She fell into a sitting position, rested her chin on her knees._

_Alastair and his fucking sadism. She didn’t want to deal with it right now._

_Tears gathered in her eyes, and she forced them back. Only wimps cried._

_She’d get herself together in a minute. She’d face it, just like always._

_She stood back up and washed her hair. Soaped up the loofah, relished the shower for as long as she dared._

_After blow-drying her hair, she grabbed her best skirt and blouse and put on the stilettoes Alastair was such a sucker for._

_She lay in bed waiting while Alastair and Dad finished talking business._

_“Hey,” Alastair leered down at her as he snaked toward the bed. She raised her eyes to him._

_He never took off any of his clothes, just unzipped his fly as he crawled on top of her. He would run his hands all over her skin, but she wasn’t allowed to touch him unless he gave her permission. He liked to rip open her shirt, ruck up her skirt; the more animalistic, the more aroused he became._

_The worst part was that he always entered her bareback because he paid a fuckin’ ton for the privilege. She hated having no layer between them when he was inside her. And then when the vile man’s cum spilled into her vagina, she wanted to throw up. It stained her, adding to the filth she carried inside._

_She went outside of her mind, a tactic she’d developed to deal with Alastair and his tastes. She’d do whatever he wanted, but she wasn’t there, not fully, even though it would all come back, in horrifying detail, hours later._

_So she did now, and he set a grueling pace, thrusting frantically, her thighs burning, her head banging against the wall._

_He pulled a knife out of his pocket and held it up to her throat. A drop of blood bubbled up, and she held her breath, telling herself not to panic. He did this sometimes, and he was disciplined about it. He knew just where to press when, without causing more than minimal damage._

_Then he touched her lips with the blade._

_“Open up,” he rasped._

_“What?” she whispered, and that was enough._

_He shoved the blade into her mouth and covered it with one hand, pressing her lips together._

_The knife shredded her lips, bruised her tongue. A sob climbed up her throat, and it made her lips thrash against the blade._

_He grinned down lasciviously at her, pushed into her even more violently._

_She couldn’t take it._

_She grasped his shoulders, shoved him as hard as she could, and he tumbled off the bed. She spat out the knife and licked at the blood pooling on her lips._

_“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Alastair growled._

_“I’m done,” she managed to cough._

_“No, you’re not. Not until I say so.”_

_She had to take her chance now, before he pounced on her and did something worse._

_She darted past him, almost falling over in her stilettoes by the time she reached the sidewalk._

_She heard them chasing after her, calling her name._

_She tripped over a twig and toppled to the ground. Then they were on her._

_Dad punched her in the eye. “What do you think you’re doing, girl?” he snarled. He pried her up. “That’s no way to behave.”_

_“Let go of me!” she demanded, hating how small and afraid her voice sounded._

_“Nuh uh. You’ve got it coming, girl. Wait ’til we get home.”_

_“I’m not going,” she gasped._

_“What?”_

_“I’m never going back there.”_

_“The hell you’re not, you ungrateful little bitch.”_

_“Fuck you.”_

_Dad slapped her, and she recoiled at the blow. Alastair slashed at her collarbone with the knife, and she fell to the ground. “You can’t leave,” Alastair warned her. “You know that.”_

_She inclined her head. “I don’t care.” And she didn’t, not then._

_Alastair and Dad pummeled her until she lost consciousness, meeting death head-on._

xxxxxxxxx

Except she hasn’t died. No. Despite how much it’d hurt, apparently Alastair and Dad hadn’t beat her enough.

They’re determined to follow through, though. The police warrant—it’s a way of finding her so they can finish what they started.

After she explains what happened last night, both men gaze back silently, Dean’s expression skeptical, Cas’s eyes filled with compassion.

“You expect me to believe the mayor regularly visits prostitutes?” Dean voices.

“Dean,” Cas admonishes, glaring at him balefully.

Meg snorts. “He does a lot more than that,” she mutters.

“Like what?” Dean demands.

She shrugs. “All sorts of shit.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Meg,” Cas professes. She sneers at the remark. _Had to go through that_. Like what happened was something fucking _normal_ to endure.

Meg stands up. “I told you the damn story. Happy? Now I’ve gotta go.”

She turns around, and Cas yells, “Wait!” She doesn’t want to obey him, dammit. She needs to get the hell out of here before Alastair and Dad catch up with her. Or at least make an effort to escape.

She spins back around anyway. “What?”

“I still don’t understand—why are the police after you?”

“Alastair owns them. He wants to bring me in.”

“Why?”

“Because of what I know.”

Dean nods to himself. “I can see that. The public wouldn’t take kindly to your tale.”

She bristles at his tone. Lackadaisical, slightly mocking. “It’s not just that. It’s _everything_ I know. The embezzling, the drug trade, a couple of hits . . . ”

“Why would he tell _you_ about that shit?”

Cas gives Dean a disapproving look, but she understands. Cas is too trusting for his own good, just taking her at face value. How has he survived this whole time?

“He doesn’t,” Meg answers. “He talks to people like Crowley and my dad. Sometimes I just happen to be there.”

“You expect us to believe he’s that careless?”

“I didn’t count. I was under my dad’s thumb.” Hell, she bets Alastair saw her as a nonentity, nothing but a doll for him to play with. She giggles at the thought. Dean looks at her like she’s crazy, and she laughs harder.

“The fuck’s wrong with her,” Dean murmurs to Cas, who responds by cutting his eyes at his boyfriend.

Once she’s calmed down, Cas asks, “What happens when the police bring you in? Who would they say you tried to murder?”

“No idea. But I’m guessing I’m a goner if I don’t play ball.” _Which I’ll never do, not again. Life’s not worth the price_.

Cas gawks at her. “Then don’t go.”

“What?”

“You can’t go back to that. We’ll help you.”

“Cas—” Dean interjects.

“I can’t let you do that,” Meg counters. _It’s too much. You don’t know what you’d be getting into._

“It’s the least we can do.”

“Cas—”

“ _What_ , Dean?”

“Can we talk alone for a minute?”

“Very well.” Cas stands, and Dean follows suit. Intense blue eyes meet hers, and she quivers inside; it feels like he can sense the filth underneath. “Don’t you _dare_ leave.” His gentle manner morphs into something scarily authoritative, and she can’t even conceive of disobeying. She nods dumbly.

From her seat in the kitchen, she watches the men’s discussion. They’re speaking in tones too low for her to hear, but she can pick up on enough through their mannerisms. Dean has a tougher, more powerful presence to him, while Cas has seemed pretty quiet so far. But Cas, despite his initial unassuming nature, appears to be dominating the conversation. He holds more sway in the relationship, and it’s fascinating.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_It’s the least we can do?_

Cas perches on the sofa, but Dean remains on his feet. “Cas. You can’t be serious.”

“What?”

“You actually believe that story?” The whole thing had sounded like nothing but a BS sob story. It _can’t_ be real. It’s too outlandish. Meg’s just making a play for pity.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

“Doesn’t the whole thing sound far-fetched to you?”

“I understand why it might. But I know the depths to which humans can fall.”

Yeah. Cas’s parents had been strict. Firm believers in corporal punishment. Cas still bears a few scars, small but easily discernable if you’re looking for them. All the result of “discipline.”

But that’s different. It’s _Cas_ –Cas, who doesn’t have a dishonest bone in his body. What’s Meg? Just some random prostitute.

“Her injuries match her story,” Cas continues.

“They do?”

“Yes. Didn’t you notice her lips?”

“No.” Dean never notices anyone’s lips but Cas’s. He wonders if he should be jealous, but he quickly dismisses the thought as absurd.

“They’re shredded. It’s a wonder she can talk.”

Oh. “Okay. Let’s say I do believe her. Why should we let her stay?”

“We can’t let her return to that life.”

“She could skip town.”

Cas shakes his head. “Not as safe. She could still be found. Besides . . . ”

“Besides what?”

“I wonder if we can convince her to do something.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel has been contemplating this since Meg began narrating her story. If Alastair Badham is really as corrupt as Meg says he is, then he needs to be removed from office. Not to mention, jailed.

Meg’s safety is paramount, of course. But if he can convince her to turn state’s evidence, so to speak, maybe that can help her, too. She can ensure her abusers get what they deserve.

“Convince her to do what?” Dean echoes.

“Testify against her users in court.”

“Jesus, Cas! You really want to get mixed up in this?”

“Not particularly. But it is the right thing to do.”

“And what’re we gonna do with Meg in the meantime?”

“She can stay with us.”

“You know how long that shit’s gonna take? _Years_ , probably.”

“That would be inconvenient,” Castiel admits. “Perhaps she can be given some sort of safe house.”

“How would we even go about this? If Meg’s telling the truth, the police are in Alastair’s pocket.”

“I don’t know.” They would figure it out, though.

“Right. Okay. Maybe I’ll ask Sam what he thinks.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Dean’s brother Sam is an assistant district attorney. Perhaps he will have an accurate feel for who the corrupt people in government are.

“Yeah. Okay. I’m in.”

Castiel grins. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean bends down and pecks Castiel on the lips. “What was that for?”

“Um.” Dean reddens. “I like it when you smile that big.”

Castiel’s face heats up. “Oh.”

“You know, you’re always so happy when you bring in a new stray. Maybe the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“Shut up,” Castiel says softly, embarrassed. Helping creatures heal does bring him pleasure. It’s heartening to watch them regain their vitality and embrace life.

He perceives something in Meg, a wonderful person buried underneath sarcasm and bitterness. One she might not realize exists, but it’s there, no matter how small its presence.

She deserves to be released, to embrace the true self she’s suppressed.

Thus far, she’s maintained an air of disdain. But he sees occasional flashes of pain in her eyes.

“Shall we inform Meg of our decision?” Castiel asks.

“Sure.”

Castiel stands up and threads his fingers through Dean’s, drawing reassurance from his lover’s touch.

“Dean and I have talked over everything,” Castiel announces once they return to the kitchen. “We have a proposal for you.”

“Yeah?” Meg responds.

“We want you to stay with us.”

“Right. And how long would that last?” Meg replies flippantly. “I’d have to go eventually. Might as well be now.”

Castiel glances at Dean before continuing. “As long as it needs to. There’s something more.”

“What?”

“How do you feel about . . . the mayor and his associates getting their comeuppance?”

“Sounds nice.” Meg smiles bitterly. “But impossible.”

“Maybe if you testify against them—”

“You’re kidding, right? No one would fucking believe me.”

“My brother’s an ADA,” Dean cuts in. Meg pales. “He’s one of the good guys.”

“Even if that’s true. What’s he gonna do against the whole goddamn corrupt system?”

“I don’t know,” Dean acknowledges. “But I’ll talk to him. We’ll form a plan.”

“You’ll just wind up getting into deep shit.”

“Maybe. But we can at least try,” Dean responds. Castiel is surprised by how sincere he sounds when, earlier, he’d been reluctant to agree to Castiel’s proposal. Meg frowns. “What’re your other options?”

“Go back to Dad. Go to jail or worse. Get outta town.”

“Any of that sound appealing to you? I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get out of Dodge.”

“No way in hell am I going back to Dad. The second one’s definitely a no. I _could_ leave town . . . but I don’t think I’d get far.”

“Why not?”

“Alastair has contacts. The shit he does . . . I don’t know how far it goes, exactly, but he talks about higher-ups sometimes.”

“You could risk it. You might get away. Or we can try to take the sons a bitches down.”

“That would be awesome.”

“Then let’s go for it.”

“You don’t wanna be involved in this shit,” Meg hurls. Castiel is taken aback by the pure hostility in her tone.

Dean grits his teeth and grimaces. “’Course not. But it’s the right thing to do, ain’t it?” Castiel’s eyes widen. He’s stunned that Dean is using his own argument. Not only that, but he sounds like he staunchly believes in it despite his earlier skepticism. Dean flashes a grin at him, and his heart swells with affection.

“Like that means anything.”

“Maybe not where you come from. But it’s not always like that.”

Meg contemplates the matter for a moment. At last, she nods. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Awesome.”

“But there’s something I need.”

“What?”

“Some damn clothes.”

Castiel notices how loose his clothes are on Meg; he hadn’t paid much attention before. He realizes that he and Dean are still wearing the items they’ve slept in. It lends the atmosphere an intimacy he’s not sure he should have allowed. 

Dean pastes on the smile that people never fail to find charming. Except Meg, apparently, whose lip curls in distaste as she shrinks back. Dean either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore the reaction, for he barrels on, “I think that can be arranged.”

Meg turns to Castiel, who nods. “We will find you a suitable wardrobe.” Still uneasy about being relatively undressed, he excuses himself to change his attire.

Everything will work out. It always does. He’s believed that ever since he was a boy. It’s kept him from despairing, even when his parents punished him, trying their hardest to strip him of hope, of a sense that there was a better world outside of their family.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for explicit mention of Meg's past as a prostitute.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are welcome and much appreciated.

After he changes into jeans and a T-shirt, Dean calls Sam.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean begins.

“Hey, Dean. What’s up?”

“Not much. Cas and I just got done with breakfast. What about you?”

“Just finished mowing the grass.” Sometimes Dean kinda wishes he had his own lawn to mow. But he and Cas can’t afford a place of their own, not yet anyway. Maybe someday. English professors don’t exactly pull in the big bucks, and Dean—well, he’s been drifting around between various odd jobs since graduating high school. The construction worker gig is probably the highest-paying one he’s had for a while, and it’s not the most lucrative thing, either.

“Time for a shower then?” On the other end of the line, Sam barks a short laugh. “So," Dean continues. "I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Shoot.”

“Um . . . it’s kinda hard to explain over the phone. Can I come over?”

“Sure. Hey, how about you join me for dinner tonight? I’ll make us something.”

“You? What about Jess?” Sam’s wife is a much better cook than him. Honestly, Dean would rather make the food himself.

“She’s got a girl’s night out. Which means I’d be home alone. Some company would be nice. Invite Cas.”

“Cas’s busy tonight.” No way does he trust Meg alone in their apartment. If Cas wants to let her stay, he can damn well keep an eye on her.

“Oh. Just you, then?”

“Yeah. How ’bout you let me whip up something?”

“I can cook,” Sam protests.

“Sure you can, Sasquatch. But I’m better.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Sam scoffs.

“Cool.” Sam’s just indulging him. As much as he denies it, they both know Dean enjoys putting a meal together. “See you tonight?”

“Yeah. See you later, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean responds affectionately before hanging up.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean arrives at Sam’s house a little before six o’clock. It’s everything an ideal suburban couple could dream of: white picket fence, two stories, brick, well-manicured lawn, shady oak tree adding to the curb appeal. All Sam and Jess are missing are the 2.5 kids.

They hug after Sam lets Dean in (shut up, it’s not unmanly to embrace your brother every once in a while).

Dean will wait until dinner time to bring up Meg. First, they need to get the meal together. Or rather, Dean does; Sam’s a shitty cook. He rummages around in the cabinets and checks out the fridge. He finds some leftover grilled chicken breast and decides to combine that with linguine and marinara sauce. He’ll put the finishing touch on the meal by heating up the frozen pack of garlic bread in the oven.

He debates if he should prepare a salad as well. Not that he’ll eat any of it, but Sam loves the veggies.

Yeah, why not?

He chops up tomatoes, onions, carrots, and cucumbers then combines them with the lettuce. He drizzles in some shredded cheese and tosses the ingredients together.

After he finishes the pasta, Dean dumps parmesan cheese over it and stirs.

“Sammy! Dinner!” Dean calls after he sets the table. He sits down and cracks open a beer; Sam joins him a minute later.

“Did you have to put so much cheese in the pasta?” Sam complains.

“Dude, cheese is _awesome_ ,” Dean replies. Sam wrinkles his nose at the unhealthy dish. He deposits a dollop onto his plate and fills the rest of it with salad.

Dean scoops some pasta onto his plate and grabs two pieces of garlic bread. He tears off a hunk of bread and uses it to shove a huge bite of pasta onto his fork.

“You’re not gonna eat any salad?” Sam asks.

Dean freezes in the middle of chewing and stares at Sam. Seriously? “When do I ever eat salad?”

“Talking with your mouth full,” Sam retorts. “Classy.” Dean flips him the bird, and Sam rolls his eyes.

Halfway through the meal, Dean finally decides to get down to business. “So . . . ” Dean begins eloquently. “What I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?”

Dean swallows. He places the fork on the table and grips the edge with one hand. Sam raises an eyebrow; it’s uncharacteristic for Dean to stop eating while he still has food on his plate. He rubs his sweaty palm against the table and continues. “How much do you know about Alastair Badham?”

Sam’s eyebrows knit together in puzzlement. “The mayor?”

“Yeah.”

Sam shrugs. “I dunno. He’s the mayor?”

“Any stories down at the courthouse?” Dean is on the fence about Meg. At first, he’d thought she’d just made something up to make them feel sorry for her. A hail Mary to prevent them from contacting the authorities once they knew she was wanted for murder. But Cas had made some interesting points. While Cas does sometimes give people too much benefit of the doubt, when he’d explained his logic, it’d made sense. Unsurprising. Cas has always been the smart one in the relationship.

Something had obviously happened to Meg . . . she has the bruises to prove it. And if she had robbed someone, the money would’ve still been on her last night. The cops would’ve probably picked her up before Cas happened upon her, too. She’d certainly been in no condition to evade arrest. Wouldn’t the supposed victim have directed the police to Meg’s location? Maybe Cas found her before the police could, but that’d be one hell of a coincidence, right?

Still, he’s reserving judgment until he hears what Sammy’s gotta say.

“Like what?” Sam responds.

Dean shrugs. “I dunno. Like—any rumors?”

“Rumors?”

“Yeah.” God, he’s doing a shitty job of this. “Like—how’s he doing as mayor? Do people criticize him for anything? And if they do, what for?”

“Why’re you so interested in the mayor all of a sudden?’

“Just indulge me for a sec.” Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Dean preempts him. “I’ll tell you why in a minute.”

Sam sighs. “Okay.” He thinks for a minute. “Most of what I hear is pretty positive.”

“Really?” So Meg’s a fucking liar.

“Yeah. He’s revitalizing the city. Fixing up and rebuilding municipal buildings, planning to add tons of green space. But . . . ” His eyes turn shifty.  He becomes unnaturally fixated on the salad.

“But what?”

“There are rumors, too.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Stuff like—like he makes sure the weakest prosecutor gets selected when one of his cronies is charged with something.”

“Cronies? Who’re his cronies?”

“I’m not really sure . . . I try to stay out of it, mostly. But you can’t help hearing a few whispers in the office.  I’ve also heard something about shell corporations and Heller Enterprises?”

“Heller Enterprises?” The name sounds familiar. “What’s that?”

Sam gives him a flat look. “Dude, you can’t be serious?” Of course Dean is. “You work for them?”

“How’s that?”

“You’re doing construction on one of their projects.”

“Oh.” Dean flushes. He probably should’ve known that. Sam snickers, and Dean glares at him. “Anything else?” Dean asks. Sam really should stop looking so smug.

“No, but like I said, I don’t exactly pay attention to that stuff. You gonna tell me what this’s about now?”

“Um. Did you watch the news today?”

“Yeah. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Did you see the story about Meg Masters?”

“The woman who tried to murder someone?” Dean nods. Sam’s expression grows even more bewildered.

Dean takes a deep breath. Okay. Time to get to the heart of the matter. “She’s kinda at our apartment.”

Sam scrutinizes him. “She’s. Kind of. At your apartment.”

“Yeah.” His fingernails suddenly fascinate him.

“Um . . . what . . . why?”

“Cas.” Sam’s confusion deepens yet again. “Okay. You know how Cas sometimes likes to take in birds and dogs and shit?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well. He took in Meg.”

“Because _that_ makes sense. Sheltering a wanted criminal is much different than taking care of some animal.”

“Alleged.”

“What?”

“Alleged criminal, Sammy.” Dean agrees with Sam, but he’s got Cas’s back. He’d consented to help Cas with his latest project, and he’s all in. Now, he smirks. “You should know that, Mr. Big Shot Lawyer. Innocent until proven guilty.”

Sam scoffs. “How did this woman get to your apartment in the first place?”

“Cas found her last night. Brought her home, treated her wounds . . . and they are pretty bad, Sammy. Bruises and cuts everywhere. Bloody lips, a gash on the side of her head.”

“If it was that serious, why didn’t Cas take her to the hospital?”

“That’s what I said, but you know Cas and his dumb heart.” A dumb heart Dean treasures very much. He still doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to have Cas. Dude’s way out of his league. Gorgeous, expressive blue eyes, smart as shit, a guy with a freakin’ _doctorate_ degree . . . and Dean just barely earned his high school diploma.

Dean continues, “She didn’t want to go to the hospital, so Cas brought her home. We didn’t know the police were looking for her. “And . . . ” Dean runs a hand through his hair uneasily. He’s not sure how graphic he should get with Meg’s story. “She told us about how her dad pimped her out to our mayor. How they’re the ones who beat her up . . . that Alastair Badham regularly visits her dad. Some guy with a weird name. Azazel—”

“Azazel _Masters_?!”

Dean does a double take. “You know him?”

“Same last name, I should’ve put the pieces together . . . ” Sam mutters to himself. More loudly, he explains, “I know he’s in and out of the courts. A lot. I’m not sure what for, exactly, but some colleagues have complained about having to prosecute him. Apparently he’s a tricky one to convict. It would make sense for him to be one of Alastair Badham’s cronies . . . if the mayor has cronies.”

“Oh, he’s got cronies all right.” Dean smiles to himself. Who knew _cronies_ could be such a funny sounding word? “Never trusted that fucker. He always seems too well-put-together. Know what I mean? . . . So, let’s say Meg knows a lotta shit about what Alastair Badham’s up to. Could you use it?”

“To convict him?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm . . . It’d certainly be useful, but I dunno. If she’s a prostitute, that would call her credibility into question. As would her relationship to Azazel Masters. They’d just say she has a vendetta against her dad.”

“So what would you need?”

“Hard, incontrovertible proof. Why?”

“Because that’s what we’re gonna do. Cas and I. Go after the mayor.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s a deal we made with Meg. In exchange for letting her crash at our place.”

“Seriously? You’re gonna keep on harboring a fugitive? When the police find out—”

“They won’t.” Dean dons a resolute expression. “Unless you plan on telling them?” he ventures uncertainly.

“No,” Sam sighs. “This is not a good idea.”

Dean snorts. “’Course not. But Cas wants—”

“You can’t say no?”

“You know how Cas is when he puts his mind to something.” Stubborn as a mule. He never stops until he’s satisfied with the result.

Dean’s never seen him fail.

If anyone can make this work, it’s Cas.

“You’d think he’d know better, having a Ph.D and all.”

“Can it, Sammy . . . So, you gonna help us or not?”

“Help you how?”

“Seeing what you can dig up about the mayor in the office.”

Sam sighs again. “Fine. But I’ve gotta meet her first.”

“Meg?”

“Yeah.”

“Fair enough.”

He knows Sam’s not gonna be impressed by her, but maybe when he observes how determined Cas is, realizes how messed up Meg is . . . he’ll understand.

xxxxxxxxxx

Meg doesn’t plan to stay here long enough to build a case against Alastair. Besides, that’s not even possible. Alastair and his associates will find out about their snooping before anything can go forward; then bam, they’re all dead.

So really, she’s doing these idiots a favor. And if she benefits from it . . . well, she _had_ warned the dimwits that they shouldn’t get involved. It’s not her fault they ignored her warning and let her crash there indefinitely.

After she gets her shit together, she’s out of here.

Cas and Dean have given her a place to lay low for a few days. Alastair and his goons will scour the city for probably a week tops. He’ll call his associates all over the country to be on the lookout, and they will. But when there’s no sign of her, they’ll—not give up, exactly, but locating her will become less of a priority. Alastair’s people are good at finding those who try to make themselves scarce; she can’t remember a time when anyone’d ever gotten away from them. No way in hell can she outsmart them. At least, that’s what they’ll think--she’s too dumb to successfully elude them, so she’s probably laying dead in a ditch somewhere, mauled by animals in a forest . . . or something.

If she stays here, doesn’t venture out for at least a week, she’ll be safe from them. Meanwhile, she can acquire some clothes, toiletries, and food, fleece a little money from these boys, and she’ll be all set.

So what if she’s gonna take advantage of these guys. It doesn’t make her a monster. (Even if it did, who cares? A girl’s gotta keep her hide intact.) Besides, it’s time naïve Cas learns that life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

Right now, no way she’d survive on her own. She’s still wearing Cas’s castoffs, for God’s sake.

She’d told the men she wanted some goddamn clothes, but they haven’t discussed the issue yet. At least Cas’s bought her some toiletries, but Dean’s ignored her all damn day. It’d made things even more awkward than the situation was already. Dean went off to his brother’s for dinner, and she and Cas wound up sharing a DiGiorno pizza. In the living room, Cas lets her control the remote. She’s flipping channels, wondering when she should bring the clothes back up, when Cas _finally_ gets to it.

“What size do you wear?” he asks.

“Excuse me?” she snaps.

He recoils at her tone. “I need to purchase some clothing for you.”

“Okay, first off, you don’t ever, _ever_ ask a girl what size she wears,” Meg fumes. “Second of all, _you_ are not picking out clothes for me. I don’t want to look like _that_.” She gestures in Cas’s direction.

The man’s dressed in khakis, a long-sleeve white dress shirt, and a blue sweater vest. Okay, so the nerdy look actually works for him . . . the guy _is_ gorgeous and his shirt’s just tight enough to emphasize his wiry muscles, and he’s like the definition of hot professor right there, but—

Wait, where was she?

Cas frowns down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

“Nothing. If you’re into dork chic.”

“Dean likes it.”

“I’ll bet he does,” Meg murmurs. He squints at her; he’s just so damn _confused_ , and she wants to tease him some more but—nah. More loudly, she declares, “I wanna choose my own clothes.”

Cas blinks. “I can’t take you to the store; someone might recognize you—”

“Of course not, dumbass—” Cas scowls at her. “—but there is something called the Internet, you know.”

“Oh!” God, that can’t really be news to him, can it? “Yes.” He frowns. “But you would have to wait for the items to be shipped.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “ _Duh_. I can wait. I guess.” She shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to go. I’ll be fine for a few days.”

“Hmm.” Cas is quiet for a moment. “Perhaps Dean can ask Sam if Jess . . . but no, she’s taller than you, and thinner, I think—”

Whoever this “Jess” is, Meg hates her already. _Taller, thinner?_ She’s obviously got the physique of a model.

“Whatever. Where’s your laptop?”

“What?”

“So I can do some shopping?”

“Oh. Hold on.” Cas leaves the room, and Meg scans through the channels some more. When Cas returns with a laptop, she stops on a random program and places the remote on the coffee table. On the TV, something with Steven Seagal is playing, complete with explosions. It’s the kinda shit her dad loves.

 “Thanks,” she grunts when Cas hands her the laptop. She quickly types in an address and begins browsing the available options.

Cas eyes the TV and sighs. “Must we watch this?”

“It’s your TV,” Meg responds. “Watch whatever you want.”

Cas settles on the National Geographic Channel, which is playing some show with people in Alaska. (Or Antarctica. Somewhere cold with lots of ice.) Trust the dweeb to find the most boring program possible to watch.

She skims the panty and bra section . . . and realizes she’ll have to wear the same ones for several days until what she chooses comes in. Damn, that’s nasty, but she’ll live. Life’s worth it, right?

Funny. Last night, she didn’t give two shits whether she died; she’d kind of wanted to die, even, but now—now she wants to live.

Her mind wanders. She considers the possibilities. Once Alastair thinks she’s gone, she can set up in some random town. Dye her hair—blonde, maybe—so none of Alastair’s cronies would recognize her if she stumbled upon one of them. She thinks about asking Cas to buy her hair dye, but that might make her intentions too obvious. They’d made her swear never to leave the apartment, and she’s gotta win their trust if her plan’s gonna work.

It’d be easy enough to buy out in the world, though. And once she’s taken on a new identity, she can settle into her new life. Never have to spread her legs for anyone again, not unless she wants to, and wouldn’t _that_ be divine?

That’s what she’s looking forward to the most. _Pathetic_.

After she’s filled her shopping cart, Meg calls Cas over so he can pay. After he scoots toward her and studies the screen’s contents, he looks uneasy. “That is quite a bit of money.” Meg shrugs as if she hadn’t noticed. It’s a test. She’ll push a little and see how much he’s willing to spend, and with that, she’ll gauge how much she could potentially take from him and Dean.

“Can you not find something cheaper?” Cas asks.

“These are pretty good prices,” Meg argues.

He sighs. “Very well. Give me the computer.”

He takes the laptop and slides back over to his side of the couch. After putting in his credit card information and completing the purchase, he closes the computer and sets it on the coffee table.

“Thanks,” Meg says. Nothing wrong with voicing a little gratitude; she doesn’t have to be a complete jackass. Besides, it’ll help build trust.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies.

If Cas is willing to spend that much money on her, they must have a sizable amount. She mentally licks her lips. The take will be _delicious_. When she finally leaves, she might have a decent shot at a fresh start.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean’s brother Sam has agreed to help on the condition he meet Meg first. Really, who are these naïve people Meg’s gotten involved with?

But apparently the brother is another idealistic goody two-shoes. Anyone with sense would stay out of this shit . . . unless he’s a spy, one of the ADA’s on Alastair’s payroll.

But one look at Sam, and she knows he’s not the type of person who’d screw family over like that. She feels a quiet rage. Her dad’s always been the only family she’s ever had, and he’s certainly never been like that. Nothing factors in but usefulness . . . and if you don’t play ball, Dad prefers you dead.

If only she’d been born as lucky as them. She could actually have a relationship with someone she trusts . . .

But no, these idiots get to have that, and she entered this world with nothing but fucking Azazel Masters as family. She doesn’t even know who her mom is . . . according to Dad, she’s some whore who ran off after she found baby Meg too much to handle.

She’s always supposed to be grateful that Dad stuck around for her, that he didn’t follow in the footsteps of her mom.

It had tethered her to him for so long, until she snapped two days ago.

If she’d stopped to think about her actions, would she have fought off Alastair? She’s not sure.

Sam winds up being freakishly tall, and his wife holds her own in the height department. She’s also got a perfect figure as well as a lustrous mane of blonde hair.

Dean’s brother introduces himself first. “Hi, I’m Sam.” He shakes her hand then gestures toward the woman standing next to him. “This is my wife Jess.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jess declares as she extends her hand. Her handshake’s almost as firm as Sam’s. After Meg retracts her hand, Jess holds up a plastic bag. “I brought some clothes. Maybe we can find something that fits? You’re probably tired of walking around in Cas’s castoffs.”

Meg nods. Damn straight. She’d be embarrassed of Sam and Jess meeting her like this if she cared about their opinions at all.

“How about we go to the bedroom and try these on?” Jess suggests.

“Sure,” Meg agrees.

They shut the door behind them, and Jess dumps the bag’s contents onto the bed. She picks up the first item, a pair of jeans, and tosses them to the side. “These’re probably too long for you.” She draws out a few skirts and shirts. “Maybe these’ll work. Wanna try them on?”

“Okay.” Jess turns around, and Meg draws on a black leather skirt and a blue blouse. The skirt stops at an awkward length, a little past her knees, but it’s tolerable if she won’t be wearing it anywhere in the outside world.

“You’re so pretty,” Jess professes when she examines Meg.

Meg scowls at the blatant lie. “I’m covered in bruises, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah . . . but you’re still beautiful.”

Meg snorts. _Beautiful_. There’s a word no one’s called her. She may’ve been fucked by countless men, but all they said were things like, “such a good little slut” or “love the taste of my dick, don’t you, filthy little cunt.”

They’d praise how well she took their cocks while shoving into her mouth or her pussy. They loved how she looked marked up by them, how she would get dolled up solely to please them.

Suddenly feeling sick, she claps a hand over her mouth.

“Meg?” Jess ventures. “Are you all right?”

Meg swallows and nods. Her eyes water, but she makes that shit stop. “Fine,” she croaks.

“Are you sure?” Meg nods. For once, she’s unable to summon the sarcastic response she wants to throw out.

After they figure out which clothes sort of fit Meg, they return to the living room.

Meg heads to the bathroom shortly before Sam and Jess leave. After washing her hands, she studies her reflection in the mirror. She traces the bruise surrounding her right eye. Her finger lingers at the edge of it for a moment before migrating to the wound on her left temple. She winces; it’s still tender to the touch.

_Pretty, my ass. What the hell’s that woman on?_

When she steps into the hallway, she hears Dean’s raised voice. “I still don’t know what you were thinking, Cas. Why’d you spend so much money on the damn clothes?”

“She needed them,” Cas replies, his voice the calmer of the two.

“We’re not exactly rollin’ in the dough here. If we don’t watch our spending . . .”

“I understand. I’ll be more careful; I promise.”

Hmm. So these men aren’t as loaded as she’d concluded last night. They are being kind, helping her out and all. Maybe she shouldn’t take any money from them. She doesn’t want to hurt good people.

Then again, it’s not her fault they’re suckers. Besides, are they really good people? There’s no such thing. They’ve got their skeletons, no doubt, like everyone else. She’s seen enough “fine upstanding citizens” make shady deals with Crowley to know better.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for drug usage and discussion of drugs as well as prostitution.
> 
> The chapter also contains a very simplified discussion of _The Sound and the Fury_.

After fixing his tie, Castiel pulls on his trench coat, heads to the living room, and searches for his briefcase. Might it still be in the car? He checks underneath the couch, which jolts Meg awake. Meg blinks up at him, and their eyes meet for one long second. Castiel flushes, not sure what this means, just that he can’t be the first to look away. The sound of footsteps echoes from the hallway, and Meg turns toward the new entrant.

“What’re we gonna do about her?” Dean inquires, gesturing at Meg. “We can’t trust her here alone.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Meg drawls. Dean rolls his eyes and doesn’t even deign to face her.

Dean has been nothing but a jerk around Meg so far. His contempt for her is anything but secret; he makes disparaging remarks about her when she’s present in the room. Dean can feel as he wishes, but there’s no need for him to be so appallingly rude. He’ll have to talk to Dean about it later.

“I don’t see what other choice we have,” Castiel declares. “We both have to go to work.”

“Yeah. Maybe we should chain her to the couch.”

“Go ahead,” Meg tosses out nonchalantly.

“We are not doing that, Dean,” Castiel objects.

“Why not?”

“It’s demeaning and dehumanizing. Besides, what is she going to do? If she leaves, the police will take her in.”

“Cas has a point,” Meg chimes in.

“All right. Fine,” Dean says curtly before strolling out the front door.

“I apologize for him,” Castiel tells Meg.

“No, I get it,” Meg replies. “He has a right to be suspicious.”

“He could still be nicer.”

An awkward silence ensues. He thinks he must have left his briefcase in the car after all. He goes to the kitchen and fills his thermos with coffee. When he returns to the living room, he informs Meg, “There’s cereal in the pantry and milk in the fridge. Feel free to have some. Or anything else you would like.”

“Thanks,” Meg mumbles. She scrutinizes him for a minute. “You’re really gonna wear that?”

“What's wrong with it?” Meg has already expressed disdain for his sense of fashion. Should he be worried?

“You look like a creep-o with that trench coat. And those pants are about ten sizes too large.”

“They are not.”

Meg approaches him. Startled, he backs up until he hits the wall. “You’ve got shirts that fit you.” She draws the coat off. “Like that one. There we go. The boys and girls’ll be salivating in no time.”

Castiel snatches his coat back. “The students are there to learn, not moon over their instructors.” Whys is she so concerned with how he looks, anyway?

Meg rolls her eyes, the hint of an inscrutable smile on her lips. “Whatever. Don’t say I never tried to do you a favor.”

“Good-bye, Meg,” Castiel calls on his way out the door. He puts on the coat before entering the car.

Maybe Dean is right. Maybe they should’ve never offered Meg refuge . . . if she keeps making him uncomfortable . . .

But no, she’s in danger. That trumps any discomfort her presence may provide him.

His briefcase is indeed in the car. He drives to the university and heads for his office first. He’ll need to refresh his memory about today’s lessons; he hasn’t had time to do it over the weekend. The graduate seminar will be easy, as they’ll just have a roundtable discussion. But the lower-level class, Survey of American Literature After 1865, requires more preparation.

In his undergraduate class, he begins by handing back the papers he’d finished grading on Friday. Most of the students are clearly dissatisfied, but they should have put more effort into their work. He’s not handing out grades on a silver platter. They had to meet the page minimum and use outside sources, not to mention proofreading in order to avoid misspellings like “Earnest Hemingway.”

This week, they’re discussing _The Sound and the Fury_. He knows the students probably had difficulty reading it (if they bothered reading it at all). He starts by talking about Faulkner’s stream of consciousness technique, how he sets his works in fictional Yoknapatawpha County, then moving to themes Southern writers chiefly concerned themselves with after the Civil War.

“Quentin is especially tied up with these themes,” Castiel lectures. “He’s obsessed with the aristocratic ideals of the South, especially the purity of Southern womanhood. Which is why he cannot stand the thought of Caddy becoming pregnant out of wedlock—”

“Which is what I don’t understand,” Krissy cuts in. Castiel smiles encouragingly. He’s established by now that he doesn’t mind being interrupted as long as the student says something relevant to the discussion. Krissy is one of the most vocal students in the class, and she often has interesting tidbits to contribute. “Why would he think incest is better?” The surprise on most of the other students’ faces betrays the fact that they didn’t read the assignment. “He’d rather say that he got Caddy pregnant instead?”

“He wants to save his sister from the shame of sleeping with another man,” Castiel explains. “He can take responsibility, keeping the idea of Southern womanhood at least somewhat intact. She’s innocent; it’s his fault, not hers.  It goes back to the aristocratic ideal of the South, doing the noble thing and saving the woman in danger.”

“It’s still weird.” A few people titter.

“Yes. It is,” Castiel concedes. “Now, Caddy is the unifying theme of the book’s four sections—”

“So the book’s really about Caddy,” Ava points out.

“Yes, in a way.” Ava is another one of his star pupils; so far, all of her papers have impressed him.

“But she never gets a voice. The men speak for her. Define her image. Who’s to say they really know her?”

“You are right. We only get a slight nod to objectivity in the fourth section, where the narration is in third-person. We learn that she does care about her daughter because she’s been sending money for her—”

“Money Jason steals.”

“Yes. What do you think Jason represents?” He glances at the clock in the back of the classroom. “Hold that thought. We’ll pick up there on Wednesday.”

He overhears a few of the students whispering about incest on the way out. They might actually read the book now, but if they’re looking for incest, they’re bound to be disappointed. No matter; at least it’ll get them to read.

After the students leave, Castiel packs up his briefcase and returns to his office. He plans to glance through Kafka’s _The Trial_ for his graduate seminar this afternoon.

Castiel opens the book to the first page, scans the opening. _“Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K., he knew he had done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested.”_

The page dissolves before his mind’s eye as he marvels at how much his life his changed over the short span of two and a half days.

He’s taken in a strange person named Meg, and he doesn't fully comprehend her. She has been through so much, yet she’s strong. Steely, but with a hint of softness underneath. A part of him wonders if he’s imagining the softness. It only comes out in the most fleeting of glimpses. She’s sarcastic, her humor biting. This morning . . . he swears she’d been amused by his flustered response when she’d commented on his sartorial choices. It felt like she’d been picking on him, almost. And yet . . . and yet, her advice had seemed to come from a genuine place.

He thinks upon what family can do to a person. How the Compsons had viewed Caddy through their own lens, how that impacted her choices and the reader’s image of her. How Meg’s father had forced her into a sordid life, how he’d imposed upon her the shape he desired.

How his own father had raised him to be stoic, tough. Expected him to join the military . . . and he had.

Well, almost.

How, even as he’s molded himself into someone completely different than his parents had attempted to construct, their embossment stays firmly imprinted upon him.

What does all of this say about humanity, about identity itself? How can one ever recognize the true individual mixed in with everything else?

xxxxxxxxxx

Up until lunch, Dean’s mind is occupied by nothing but work. That’s what he likes about physical labor; you can get completely lost in it.

But everything that’d happened over the weekend assaults him when they finally get a break for mealtime. He doesn’t feel like socializing with the other construction workers (a lot of them are homophobic assholes, anyway), so he takes his sack lunch and rounds the street corner. He’s standing behind the wall of the old downtown library; the one they’re working on now will be at least twice as big and a hell of a lot more opulent. They’re gonna eventually tear this one down to add a wing to the new library, so the contents of this one have been temporarily moved to another location. Point is, here, Dean gets a moment to himself, likely the only one he’s liable to get all day.

He takes out the sandwich first. Ugh. Cas packed chicken salad. He knows Dean likes BLT’s. They must’ve run out of bacon. It’s about time to go grocery shopping.

He grabs the bottle of water and guzzles half of the contents. This shit is thirsty work. At the bottom of the bag, he finds two Twinkies. He decides to tackle those first and build up to tolerating the chicken salad.

He’s still not completely sure what to make of Meg. Sam is leery of her, but he also thinks revenge is sufficient motivation for her to make moves against Alastair. Jess’s opinion is . . . interesting.

“She’s clearly been through a lot,” Jess had observed while Meg was in the bathroom.

“No shit,” Dean had snorted. All you had to do was look at the chick to figure that out.

“No, I don’t mean her injuries.”

Dean had perked up, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a fine tremor in her hands. Haven’t you noticed?”

“No.” Not even Cas had gathered that much, and he was usually pretty observant.

“She tries to hide it most of the time, but there are—moments—where it comes out.”

“Moments? Like what?”

“When she’s triggered.”

“She was forced to be a prostitute by her own father,” Cas had mused.

“That would mess anyone up.”

After a brief silence, Sam had asked Cas when Meg’s clothes would arrive. Then Dean had once again remembered how much money Cas had dropped on them, and he’d reminded Cas they needed to watch their spending.

Meg seems to be doing whatever she can to allay Dean’s suspicions. When he’d proposed restraining her before leaving the house, she’d been game.

Maybe he needs to call her bluff at some point. He doesn’t know if his skepticism can be overcome until he does. In the meantime, he’ll try to be more civil, to appease Cas if for no other reason.

He hears the sound of footsteps behind him, but he doesn’t turn to look. Whoever it is sits down next to him and blows smoke, a rancid sweet smell emanating from his direction.

He finally swings his gaze around and sees Andy has joined him. He’d known the dude had to be a stoner.

Andy wordlessly proffers him the joint, and Dean takes a couple of puffs before passing the doobie back to Andy.

“You okay?” Andy asks.

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “Why?”

“You’re over here by yourself.”

“So’re you.”

Andy chuckles. “I think that’s self-explanatory.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah. Ash wouldn’t have cared, though.” Their foreman always reeks of pot.

“True. I didn’t want to take the risk with everyone else, though.”

“I hear ya.”

“Listen,” Andy begins as he stubs out the joint on the concrete. “If you ever wanna make extra cash, I got the hookup.”

Dean gapes at him. “Seriously? You’re a dealer?”

Andy shrugs. “Gotta supplement my income somehow.”

That makes sense. They sure as hell don’t make much money here. Dean checks his watch. It’s about time to return to the site.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Dean gets home first. His jeans are covered in dirt, and his hair is caked with perspiration. Rivulets of sweat drip down his cheeks, too. “Gonna take a shower,” he mutters as he passes by the couch on his way to the bathroom.

Meg keeps her attention on the TV. Phyllis Dietrichson is one awesome bitch, and she owns it. Too bad she won’t get away with her scheme. This was made in the 1940s, after all; they didn’t let bad guys win back then.

Ten minutes later, Dean returns to the living room, clad in black sweatpants and a Metallica T-shirt. It’s the most casual she’s seen him look since that first morning here. He’s toweling off his still-damp hair, strands of which hang haphazardly over his forehead. And there’re the freckles scattered over his face. She’d noticed them before, of course, but for some reason, they stand out in this moment.  

Altogether, he makes a boyishly charming picture.

Which goads her into wariness.

Dean gestures at the couch. “Can you scoot over?” Meg just stares at him, and he sighs. “I just wanna put my feet up before I start dinner.”

Meg slides to the other side. Dean plops down onto the sofa, propping his feet on the coffee table. He drapes the towel on his head and shoulders. The effect is rather amusing.

“You’re gonna cook dinner?” Meg asks skeptically. So far, they’ve been eating oven-heated meals and takeout.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Just . . . you don’t seem like the type that cooks.” It clashes with the macho image Dean tries to project.

“Well. I do.” He squints at the TV. “Watcha watchin’?”

“ _Double Indemnity_.”

“Didn’t peg ya for someone who likes old movies.”

“Guess we both have surprises up our sleeve.” She’d watch almost anything with Barbara Stanwyck; she’s a badass. “Besides. There’s not much else on. Since you don’t have cable and all.”

“Yeah. Sorry ’bout that.” He points at a DVD rack. “But feel free to watch whatever. And we do have Netflix.”

“Seriously?” Why had no one told her this sooner?

Dean runs a hand over his neck. “Yeah. You’ll have to use one of the computers, though. I’ll see about unlocking mine later so you can use it. If you want.”

 _I do want._ “Thanks.” No one says anything for a few minutes. She’s not sure if Dean’s actually paying attention to the TV or not, but his presence is making her nervous. Experience tells her it’s only a matter of time until he snaps at her. She can’t help but wonder if he’s taking her measure, trying to find something else about her to poke at. To distract him (if that’s what he’s doing), she forces out some small talk. “So. What’re you making for dinner?”

“Tacos.”

Interesting. “What kind?”

“Beef, hard shell. Sound good to you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Dean grins mischievously. “’Cause that’s what you’re gettin’.”

Ah. She knew Dean didn’t care about her opinion.

A couple of minutes later, Dean stands up and takes the towel off his head. “I’m gonna get started.”

Cas walks in thirty minutes later. He drops his briefcase in the bedroom and returns wearing blue wind pants and a black T-shirt sporting a picture of William Shakespeare.

“I’m going for a run,” he announces before jogging outside.

When Cas returns thirty minutes later, he pauses in the living room to catch his breath. He lifts up the bottom of his shirt and uses it to wipe sweat from his forehead. Damn, he’s toned. After his shirt falls back, he calls, “Dean, do I have time to take a shower?”

“Yeah,” Dean yells back. “Plenty of time.”

“Okay.”

Cas starts toward the bathroom. “Don’t you want some water first, babe?” Dean shouts. _Babe_. She hasn’t heard them use pet names until now. Maybe they’re getting more comfortable with having her around?

Or it’s just a part of their weekday domestic routine.

“That would be nice,” Cas acknowledges.

Not long after, she hears the shower turn on. When Cas returns to the living room, he’s wearing jeans and a blue sweater, his hair immaculately dry. There’d been some attempt at taming it, but wisps of it still fly wherever they will.

Dinner is delicious. She scarfs down three tacos, and not just because she’s hungry. Dean did a great job, so it’s only fair to compliment him. “These tacos are amazing. Best I’ve ever had.”

Dean actually _blushes_ at that. She didn’t think he could be bashful about anything. “Thanks.” He sounds like he doesn’t quite believe her.

“Dude, I’m serious. There’s just the right mix of everything.”

After dinner, Cas rinses the dishes and places them in the dishwasher.

Dean and Cas sit across from her at the table.

Then it’s time to start spilling the beans.

“There’s a lot to cover,” Meg mentions.

“Just start with the basics,” Dean suggests.

Whew. She should’ve planned this better. How much of the truth does she want to tell? If she’s gonna leave, she doesn’t necessarily need to explain everything. Even though she doesn’t care about the men, she doesn’t want to lead them to their death.

Then again, being honest might help them actually take down Alastair, especially with Sam on their side. He seems smart, and if they can find solid evidence . . .

Whatever.

Alastair deserves his just desserts. She thinks these guys know how to be careful.

“Okay. Let’s talk about the main players first.” Cas begins recording her words on the legal pad in front of him. “Alastair Badham. Fergus Crowley. Lilith Heller. And my dad, Azazel Masters.”

“Lilith Heller? She got anything to do with Heller Enterprises?” Dean inquires.

“She’s only the owner and CEO.” Meg frowns. “Why? What do you know about them?”

“I guess I work for them?”

“Right. You’re a construction worker, and Heller’s got the contracts for the city’s new stuff.”

“No, they don’t,” Cas interjects. “I saw on the news—”

“Forget what you saw on the news. That’s a lie. Every group with a contract goes back to Lilith.”

“How?  Isn’t that illegal?”

Meg rolls her eyes. “Duh. That’s what we’re talkin’ about, right? All the illegal shit that’s goin’ down? Anyway. Now Lilith. She’s in bed with Crowley and Alastair.—”

“In bed,” Dean echoes dryly, smirking. Cas elbows him, but Meg huffs a laugh because that shit is funny.

“Yes. They hold all property in common, including Lilith’s corporations. And Crowley’s night clubs.”

“Night clubs?”

“Yeah. Again, the paperwork doesn’t show that Crowley owns all the nightclubs in town, but he does. Shady stuff goes down at all of them, but most of the action centers on Crossroads.”

“Crossroads? I’ve heard of that.”

“It’s the most well-known club simply because it’s the most exclusive. You’ve gotta have a lotta money to get in plus an invitation.”

“An invitation?” Cas interrupts. “From whom?”

“One of the higher-ups in the racket.”

“Have you been there? Inside Crossroads?” Dean asks.

“A few times, but not where the action was.” She suppresses a shudder. She’d whored in Crossroads for years before Dad had finally let her stop. And that was only because he could make more money marketing her as an exclusive commodity. Someone who cost more because you could fuck her at the house, not one of the clubs. Not only that, but he’d spread the word that she was more talented. Which she was. Is. Ugh.

“Meg?” Cas cuts in.

“Sorry . . . I don’t know where my mind went.”

“Maybe we should stop there for today.”

Dean glances at the clock above the oven. “Yeah. It’s almost time for _Dr. Sexy_.”

“ _Dr. Sexy_?” Meg sputters. “You guys watch that?”

“It’s Dean’s favorite show,” Cas declares.

“Hey, _Dr. Sexy_ is awesome,” Dean says defensively.

They migrate to the living room, where Meg takes the recliner. Cas and Dean settle on the couch. Just before the show begins, Cas snakes an arm around Dean’s shoulders. His hand massages Dean’s upper arm, and Dean leans into Cas, his head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

It’s obvious.—They love each other very much.

She’ll never have that.

She hates them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can see Meg appreciating and identifying with the femme fatales of film noir.
> 
> The quote from _The Trial_ comes from the version posted on Project Gutenberg.
> 
> Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions make me happy. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for depictions of prostitution and stripping as well as references to drug dealing. Also, there's mention that many of Azazel's prostitutes have been coerced into the trade and that Meg acted as a lure for women, some of whom may have been underage.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always welcome and much appreciated.

When Dean gets back from work, he discovers several large boxes in front of the unit. He unlocks the door and leaves it open so he can shove the boxes inside.

“Your clothes arrived,” he announces to Meg, who’s stretched out on the couch, attention fixated on the laptop. He pushes in the first box.

Meg pauses whatever she’s watching and places the laptop on the coffee table. “Awesome.”

She sounds glad, and he understands why. Jess’s old clothes are baggy on her. “I dunno where we’re gonna keep them, though,” Dean murmurs as he surveys the apartment. They’ve only got the one bedroom; that’s why Meg’s been sleeping on the couch. Where would they find space for the boxes?

“Maybe you could put them against the wall, by the TV?” Meg suggests.

“It’d look kinda sloppy.” He grins. “Guess it doesn’t matter. Not like we’re havin’ company over anytime soon.” Not that they ever really had company over, except for Sam and Jess.

After Meg helps him move the boxes, he glances at what Meg’s been watching on the computer. The screen’s frozen on a still of Krysten Ritter. “You’ve been watching _Jessica Jones_?” he comments.

Meg settles back on the couch and grabs the laptop. “Yeah. Maybe I should’ve watched _Daredevil_ first, but, y’know . . . this sounded more interesting. _Daredevil_ ’s next, though.”

“Cool.” So she’s got good taste in TV shows. His attitude toward her softens for a second; then he remembers that it shouldn’t. Just because they might like similar shows doesn’t mean he should be less suspicious of her.

Besides, she’d ragged on him for loving _Dr. Sexy_.

After Cas comes home and changes into his jogging clothes, he steps into the kitchen. “The living room looks cluttered,” he remarks.

Dean shrugs. “You got a better idea about where to put that shit?”

“No.”

“Then too bad.” Cas hates a mess, but he’ll have to deal. Once they can afford a bigger place, they can maintain an uncrowded space.

The rest of the evening proceeds as usual, Cas showering while Dean puts the finishing touches on dinner; then they eat the meal. Just like last night, afterward they settle in to hear more from Meg.

“So, where were we?” Dean begins. Cas grasps his hand underneath the table and squeezes. It calms his nerves.

“We were talking about how Alastair, Lilith, and Crowley own a lotta stuff together,” Meg answers.

“Okay. Your dad’s not part of that?”

“No.”

“How does he factor in?” Cas inquires.

“He’s in charge of the more explicitly illegal activities. Prostitution, drugs, gambling rackets. Alastair, Lilith, and Crowley allow him to operate from their businesses and use him to reinforce their business dominance. In return, they get a cut of his profits.”

“Where does he get his merchandise . . . ” Shit, that’s not the right way to put it; Meg scowls at him, revulsion plainly written across her face. “The drugs to push? The prostitutes?”

“Does he coerce women into the trade?” Cas adds.

Meg snorts. “What do you think?”

Dean’s taken aback, and Cas gapes. “Surely you jest,” Cas says. He looks skeptical.

“Dude, the answer’s yes,” Dean hurls. God, Cas can be so naïve, and it frustrates him sometimes.

“Oh,” Cas exhales, eyes round and wide.

“Yeah,” Meg mutters. “Can’t say I’m completely blameless there, either.” She lowers her eyes.

“You’ve . . . helped him trick women into being prostitutes?”

“Acted as a lure, yeah.” Cas pales, and Dean can’t help but gawk at her. What kind of sadistic person would participate in something like that? “No one was ever underage,” she continues. “At least I don’t think.”

“Because _that_ makes it so much better,” Dean remarks. He feels himself simmering, just underneath his skin.

“I didn’t say it was,” Meg replies waspishly. “Look, he started me in on it when I was little, okay? When I got old enough . . . I stopped.”

Dean scoffs in disgust. Cas’s expression, however, softens, and Dean could just slap him for his idiotic heart. How he lets it get in the way of his judgment, again and again.

“Your father compelled you to do it?” Cas posits.

“Yeah,” Meg sighs.

“When you stopped . . . did he require you to do something else instead?”

Meg stiffens. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Several moments of awkward silence follow. No one seems to know what to do, so Dean eventually suggests, “Maybe we should go to one of Crowley’s clubs.”

“Why?” Meg questions.

“To see if we can spot some of the shit he gets up to.”

“All of them have some degree of illegal activity, but most of it’s well-hidden from the general public. The only exception might be Crossroads.”

“Which you need an invitation for.”

“Exactly. That’s why things’re more open there.”

“Too bad we can’t go.” That’d be an enormous help to their investigation.

Meg looks contemplative. “Maybe you can. Maybe I can create an invitation for you?”

“From you? No offense, but I don’t think your stamp’s gettin’ us in there.”

“Of course not. But I think I can copy Dick Roman’s handwriting. He vets the people he invites, and a lotta them are people Crowley has never met.”

“Dick Roman?” Cas chimes in. “As in Dick Roman of Roman Enterprises?”

“Yep,” Meg responds just as Dean retorts, “What the hell is Roman Enterprises?”

Cas eyes Dean like he’s just admitted to not knowing something as obvious as the identity of the President. “He owns the most successful hedge fund in the region, and he’s a state senator.” He turns to Meg. “Dick Roman is involved in these activities as well?”

“Alastair’s gotta have someone higher up on his side.”

What the hell have they gotten themselves into? How far does this thing go? He can’t wait to tell Sam what they’ve learned and hear about what Sam’s discovered so far.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel frowns down at the invitation in his hand. He’ll have to trust that Meg has created a reasonable facsimile of Dick Roman’s handwriting and signature. Otherwise, they’re, as Dean would say, “screwed.” Crowley would want to know where they got the forgery from and why, and everything would unravel. Their lives could be at stake, and that is no exaggeration. Look at what happened to Meg.

“You ready for this?” Dean asks as he switches off the ignition.

Castiel studies the building a few yards away. A lurid red light flashes above the entrance of the two-story edifice. The parking lot is filled with expensive-looking cars. The club is hidden in plain sight, as it were, with several trendy restaurants, even an art gallery, located nearby.

Castiel shrugs. “I suppose.”

“I’m not.”

Castiel turns to Dean, who shrinks ever so slightly. The action would be imperceptible to most, but not to Castiel, who is attuned to him. He’s noticed Dean tends to jump back when he gives him his undivided attention. Dean has told him he can sometimes be “intense,” which probably explains Dean’s reaction. Even though Dean has expressed discomfort with the gaze, he’s also insisted that it’s one of his favorite things about Castiel. He doesn’t quite comprehend the paradox, but he believes Dean’s claim. It’s easy for him to tell when Dean is lying.

“Would you like to come back tomorrow?” Castiel inquires.

“Nah. That won’t change anything.” Dean smiles grimly. “Might as well get this over with.”

They trudge through the parking lot toward the guard at the front door. The tall, brawny man glares down at them. Castiel swallows, nervous. Dean appears unfazed, however, and hands the bouncer his invitation. Castiel follows suit.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Dick Roman, eh?”

“Yep,” Dean replies, projecting an unshakeable confidence. It’s a stark contrast to what Dean had expressed about his mood while they’d lingered in the Impala.

The guard shakes his head. “I wish the senator didn’t give these out so freely.”

“Whatever. We’ve got it, so you gonna let us in or what?” Dean asserts, infusing his voice with authority.

“You got the dough?”

“Yeah.”

“Hand it over.”

Dean and Castiel pay the steep price for entrance, and the bouncer returns their invitations. “You better not lose those,” he warns.

“Oh, we won’t,” Dean assures him.

When they enter, they’re greeted by loud pulsing electronic music. Castiel flinches at the volume, and Dean reaches for his hand and squeezes. His eyes meet Castiel’s, a silent question: is he okay? Dean knows how jarring Castiel finds loud noises. His parents had ridiculed him for his oversensitivity as he was growing up, told him he was being childish. That he needed to get over it, that his sensitivity made him weak. He still believes that’s true, sometimes. It had taken Dean to show him that nothing was wrong with it, nothing was wrong with him.

Castiel nods, and Dean relaxes. He’s with Dean. He can handle this. He can tolerate it, for the greater good.

They meander through several small rooms, each decorated with finely crafted furniture. The occupants all appear to be gambling, engaged in card and dice games. Finally, they reach what appears to be the main area, a large room outfitted with plush red velvet carpet, black leather chairs, and sleek metal tables of various sizes. Near the back, several people stand around a few small tables. The rest of the room is filled with seated patrons sipping drinks which are no doubt alcoholic. A few individuals ogle the spectacle on stage, though most seem to take it as a matter of course.

Castiel does a double take at the performers on stage. Five scantily clad women dance, striking seductive poses. One teases a bikini bottom with her fingers, pulling it infinitesimally lower at the slowest pace imaginable.

“Wow,” Dean utters. Dean appears entranced by the women on stage. Castiel scowls at him. When Dean notices, he shakes himself and flushes. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Do you truly find the striptease alluring?” Castiel inquires. “It’s disgusting.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a prude.”

“No. I abhor what these women have been enticed to do, to offer themselves as commodities, market themselves for men, or whoever may watch, to consume with their eyes, perhaps even their bodies.—”

“No one forced them to do it.”

“No? Have you not listened to Meg’s testimony?”

Dean’s face drains of color. “You think . . . you think they were forced into it?” he ventures in a quiet voice.

“It does seem likely.”

Dean blushes with shame. “I didn’t  . . . It’s not like I really wanted to watch, Cas.”

“I know.” Castiel clasps Dean’s hands and drags him toward a table somewhere in the middle. “Perhaps we should sit.”

“Uh. Yeah.” After they order and receive their drinks, Dean asks, “So, what now?”

“We observe.”

A few minutes later, a man in a black suit pauses by their table. “Well,” he sibilates, his accent British. “You’re new.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dean stutters.

The man extends his hand. “Fergus Crowley.” Castiel’s eyes meet Dean’s as they register his name. They introduce themselves and shake his hand. Castiel resists an urge to wipe his hand on his slacks afterward; something about the man strikes him as slimy.

“Where’d your invite come from?”

“Dick Roman,” Castiel answers.

“Ah. And how do you know the senator?”

Dammit. They should’ve foreseen this, made up a plausible connection.

“Andy Gallagher,” Dean blurts. What?

“Oh, Mr. Gallagher. Yes. His father’s a friend of a friend of Roman’s cousin, I believe. Or something like that.”

“Uh huh.”

Crowley’s eyes roam toward the stage. “I see you’ve been looking at the ladies.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you two together?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers.

Crowley whistles and grins. “I get it. You’re looking to spice things up in the bedroom.”

“What?”

“You know, you can indulge in almost any pleasure you wish. If you know where to look.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling briefly then lowers them to the floor before settling his gaze back on them.

“Good to know,” Dean replies.

Crowley smirks. “Enjoy yourselves, boys.” He strolls to the other side of the room.

“I don’t like him,” Castiel declares. On an instinctual level, talking to Crowley felt almost like dirt burrowing underneath his skin.

“Me, neither,” Dean agrees.

“Who is Andy Gallagher?”

“Oh, just some guy at work. He sells drugs. At least, that’s what he said.” He smiles. “I didn’t think that’d work, to be honest, but we had to say something.”

“Yes.” They sip their drinks for a minute before Castiel suggests, “Perhaps we should investigate this place further. Upstairs and downstairs.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles as he downs the last of his beer. “Could he have been more obvious?”

“What?”

“Crowley. What if we were plants or something? Which we are. I guess . . . It just seems almost too easy.”

“Presumably, we have been vetted by sources he considers trustworthy.”

“Uh huh.” Dean glances around uneasily. “Yeah. You take upstairs; I take down?”

“All right.”

Dean whips his phone out of his jeans pocket. “Don’t forget to get some pictures.”

They separate, and Castiel directs his steps toward the staircase in the hallway. He regards the stairs for a moment. What’s up there? Drugs, prostitution, more high-stakes gambling? Whatever it is, he’s not looking forward to it.

He ascends the stairs at a deliberate pace. When he reaches the top, he’s approached by an unkempt man with oily black hair. “You lookin’ for a good time?”

“Ye—Yes.” Castiel hopes his face is a neutral mask, doesn’t betray how much he’s quivering inside. He has no idea about the nature of the situation he’s just walked into, but he must pretend as if he is cognizant of standard procedure.

“What’re you into?”

“Pardon?”

The man narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. “Blonde, brunette, red-head? Want a blow job or a fuck? One, two, three, how many?”

Oh. He’s stumbled into the prostitution side of the operation. The drugs might have been easier to handle. Unless he’d be expected to partake in their use. Would Dean have to do that?

He’s concluded that he should stick to what he and Dean had led Crowley to believe, that they are a couple who would like to add variety to their sex lives. “Um. I . . . threesome?” He hears how awkward he sounds. “My boyfriend and I would like to hire someone to engage in intercourse with us.” The man’s puzzled look indicates that he’s not speaking the correct lingo. His request will probably be rejected.

But the man shrugs and nods. “Okay. We can do that. What’re you guys looking for?’

Castiel inwardly recoils. It sickens him to hear people referred to as objects. He feels guilty for continuing the ruse. How far will he have to go?

He will not let this progress too far. “I am just searching for two or three women to present to my boyfriend. So he can decide.” When he leaves to fetch his boyfriend, he’ll depart the establishment instead.

“I’ve got a few options. Follow me.” The man leads Castiel down a narrow hallway and stops about a quarter of the way down. The man knocks on the door to their left.

A woman, young enough to be one of his students, sidles through the door. She’s clad in a red negligee that leaves little to the imagination. Her lips are blood red. Her shoulder-length blonde hair gleams when the light strikes it, but looking closely, he notices its stringy texture. Her eyes are a brilliant shade of blue, yet they’re dull, matching the waxy pallor of her skin.

How did she come to have this life? How can anyone be aroused when this woman is so clearly miserable?

The woman tilts her head to the side and grins coyly. “Who’s this?”

“What’s yer name?” the man asks.

“Cas—Castiel.” He would prefer to use an alias, but the invitation contains their real names. They’d thought that pseudonyms could lead to suspicion should one of Crowley’s people look them up. According to Meg, the criminal syndicate’s associates are everywhere, which meant anyone could learn of their true identities.

“I’m Bunny.” She runs a hand up and down Castiel’s arm, and he stiffens. She cackles. “First time, is it?”

“I am no virgin,” he snaps. Why do so many people assume he’s the picture of innocence?

Bunny rolls her eyes. “Sure.” She caresses his cheek with one hand. “Good thing you’re cute.”

“Castiel has a special request.”

“Oh?”

The doors at the end of the hallway suddenly burst open, and a horde of uniformed individuals rushes through. Before he can process what’s occurred, he’s handcuffed and being shoved downstairs.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean had just returned to the entryway, dime bag in pocket, when he noticed flashing red lights through a small window near the ceiling.

_Shit. The cops are here_.

He dashes outside, reaching his Impala just before the police arrive. He crouches behind the car and watches the cops storm into the building.

_Dammit. Cas is still inside._

It’s a fuckin’ raid. At least a dozen squad cars are parked by the entrance, bright blue and red strobe lights piercing the dark. The pulsing colors give him a headache. Scores of people flock outside and flee toward their cars. The vehicles speed out of the parking lot, producing a cacophony of sound that pounds into Dean’s consciousness, making his head pulse even more. He keeps his eyes peeled on the entrance, hoping to see Cas streaming out with the horde. No such luck.

Eventually, the police come outside, each officer dragging at least three handcuffed individuals along behind. He squints into the distance, trying to make out the features of each person. Most of them seem to be prostitutes or the drug dealers Dean had met with in the basement. One man has on a tan trench coat, and Dean can just discern a shock of dark brown hair . . .  his stomach sinks, ice cold. He recognizes that silhouette.

He waits until the police are gone before climbing into the Impala. He heads straight to the city jail. There, he finds a chaotic scene. Cops swarm the interior, processing countless individuals. He doesn’t see Cas anywhere.

He strolls around, inspecting the area for the booking office. He jogs toward it as soon as he spots it. Luckily, he has just enough cash to bail out Cas.

They’re silent on the way home. Inside the apartment, Meg, clad in a T-shirt and pajama shorts, is still wide awake despite the late hour. Her eyes rove from the TV toward them when they walk in.

“How’d it go?” she inquires.

Dean slams the door, and she flinches. Cas gives him a disapproving look before asking Meg, “Why are you still awake? Are you not tired?” Dean grits his teeth, because who gives a fuck. Cas was just freakin’ _arrested_.

“Of course I’m tired.” She yawns as if to underscore her response. “But I wanted to know how things went.”

Fuming, Dean plops onto the recliner. “You wanna know how it went?! Cas got _fucking arrested_ is how it went.”

“What?”

Dean points an accusing finger at her. “This is your damn fault.” If only she’d left that first morning. Then they wouldn’t be in this mess. Stupid Cas and his dumb heart.

But if Cas hadn’t urged her to stay . . . she might be dead by now.

Why should he give a damn?

He knows Cas would berate him for the attitude, and he’d be right. Just goes to show how much better he is, how much Dean doesn’t deserve him.

“Excuse me?” Meg retorts.

“If it weren’t for you, it wouldn’t have happened,” Dean continues.

“Going to Crossroads was your idea, dumbass.”

Shit, she’s right. He runs a hand through his hair. Still—“Don’t talk to me like that.”

She widens her eyes in faux innocence. “Like what?”

“Don’t call me names.”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“You ungrateful bitch. We _rescued_ you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Dean, Meg,” Cas interrupts. “Your bickering is not helping matters.”

At the same time, Dean and Meg grudgingly sigh in agreement. Irritated at the coincidence, Dean glowers at Meg. She scowls right back.

“Okay, what’ve you got?” Meg prompts.

Cas joins her on the couch. “I stumbled upon the prostitutes’ den. Unfortunately, I did not have the opportunity to take any pictures.”

“I got pictures,” Dean interjects.

“Of what?” Meg asks.

“Drug dealers. And users.” He pulls out his phone, unlocks it, pulls up the photos, and passes the phone to Meg. “Check it.”

Meg flips through the pictures silently. When she reaches the end of the scroll, she declares, “All useless.”

Dean’s anger flares up again. “What’re you talkin’ about? That’s illegal shit goin’ down. In Crowley’s club.”

“Yeah.” She hands Dean back his phone. “But Crowley’s not in any of these pictures. No one important is. Crowley can just say he didn’t know about it.”

“He was there.”

“You met him?”

“Yeah.”

“A most unpleasant man,” Cas comments.

“Of course he is,” Meg agrees. “Sleazy as they come . . . As I was saying. You don’t have any definitive proof that Crowley was there. If asked, he’ll set up someone lower. Say they were the manager, that they were in charge.”

“Fuck,” Dean exhales.

“Pictures are useful only if you catch Crowley in the act. Even then, it might not be enough to bring down Alastair and Lilith.”

“You don’t think he’d rat either of them out?”

Meg contemplates the question for a minute. “Maybe. If any of them would turn informant to save their own skin, it’d be Crowley.”

“So we go back. Trail Crowley, see if we can snap something incriminating.”

“He’s not that careless. He’d never do something unquestionably incriminating unless he trusted everyone around him.”

“Would he not trust everyone who is in Crossroads?” Cas cuts in.

“Hell no.”

“But you said it’s exclusive. That everyone is properly vetted. Supposedly.”

“Yeah. But he’s not an idiot. Only a handful of people are in his inner circle.”

“So we need to get in his inner circle. Somehow,” Dean concludes.

Cas gapes at Dean. “You cannot be serious.”

Now that the wheels have started turning, Dean’s excited by the idea. It’d be fun. Like being a secret agent. In high school, he’d thought about being a cop. Spearheading an investigation, going undercover, making criminals pay . . . it appealed to him. But he’d been too much of a fuckup to do more than think about joining the police. Instead, after graduating from high school, he’d just drifted and drifted . . .

It’s probably a good thing he didn’t try to become a cop, though. In this town, anyway. Apparently they’re corrupt, and he wouldn’t have been on board for that.

“I thought Crowley and his cronies owned the police,” Dean muses aloud.

Cas crosses his arms over his chest and warns, “Do not change the subject, Dean.”

“I’m not. I really don’t understand. Why would the cops bust into Crossroads?” He turns to Meg, waiting for an answer.

“It was probably for show,” Meg explains.

“Oh.  That makes sense . . . All the more reason for us to do the work ourselves.”

“Dean,” Cas argues, “We are not law enforcement. We are not equipped for such an undertaking.”

“The law enforcement is shit. Someone’s gotta pick up the slack.”

“Not us.”

“You’re the one who thought we should get involved.”

“Yes. To a reasonable extent. We can find another way. See what Sam turns up.—”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Cas is right,” Meg breaks in. She looks dead serious, for once no trace of sarcasm or derision in her voice. “It goes too far. Besides, it would never work. It would take _years_ to build up the appropriate level of trust.”

“Fine,” Dean concedes. He’s a little disappointed, but he knows it’s for the best. No way should he and Cas be endangering their lives for this shit.

Cas covers a yawn. “I am exhausted.” Red-tinged eyes meet Dean’s. “Come to bed?”

“Yeah, okay.”

As Cas passes into the hallway, Dean glances one last time at Meg. He’s struck anew by the dark ring around her eye, the bruises and cuts decorating her legs.

_I didn’t ask you to._

He knows she’d meant those words. She would have been perfectly fine if they’d let her leave that first morning.

It’s one of the most depressing things he’s ever heard.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The end of this chapter contains smut between Dean and Cas. Hopefully it's okay; writing smut is difficult for me.
> 
> Also, I've been updating every 2-3 weeks, but it might be longer than that until the next update. Not sure how long, but I'll update when I can.
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Dean meets Sam for lunch so they can discuss the latest developments in the investigation. After Dean enters his office, Sam closes the door behind him. Dean raises an eyebrow. Would that be seen as suspicious? “We wouldn’t want the wrong people hearing us,” Sam explains as he takes a seat behind his desk.

Dean sits across from him, pulls out his BLT, and bites into it. Damn, that’s good. Sam eyes him distastefully. “What?” Dean mumbles through the mouthful of sandwich.

“Do you _have_ to make pornographic sounds while you’re eating?”

“You’re just jealous ’cause my food is good.” Dean glances down at the salad Sam is digging into.

Sam scoffs but doesn’t further dignify the comment. “So, what’s up?”

“The cops busted into Crossroads last night.”

“Yeah, so?”

Shit. He hasn’t kept Sam as up to date as he should’ve, has he? “Fergus Crowley owns that club.”

“Uh huh. So what’s your point?”

“My point is, he’s partners with Alastair. Mayor Badham. He, Lilith Heller, and Crowley are in their . . . scheme . . . together. They share the spoils.”

“Meg told you this?”

“Yeah.”

“You told me about the mayor, and I’d heard rumors about Ms. Heller. Why didn’t you say anything about Crowley?”

Dean shrugs. “Dunno. Guess I forgot?”

“You have to keep me posted on these things if I’m gonna be any help.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Dean murmurs. More loudly, he continues, “Anyway. We were at Crossroads last night. Me and Cas.”

“What?” Sam splutters, coughing up shreds of his latest bite. Dean flinches because that shit is _disgusting_.

“We were checking things out. Trying to find out what went down in there, since Meg said it was Crowley’s most exclusive place . . . and Cas got thrown in jail for his trouble.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Sam swallows his food. “I’ll see what I can do to get the charges dropped. I don’t usually approve of pulling that kind of thing, and I don’t even have that much influence around here. But I can make an exception for this.”

“Thanks for compromising your ethical standards for me, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “When you put it like that . . . ”

“Okay, okay.” Dean had been surprised to hear Sammy offer to attempt to have Cas’s charges dismissed, but he’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth here. “That’s not really what I came for, though.”

“Oh. Then what is it?”

“Do you know who led the raid last night?”

“Hmm.” Sam logs into his computer and punches a bunch of keys. A minute later, he answers, “A Lieutenant Victor Henriksen.”

“He on the level?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t made much progress yet on figuring out which cops are on Alastair’s payroll. Or even finding out much about him and Lilith Heller, for that matter.” Sam looks apologetic.

“Don’t worry about it, man. I’m sure that shit’s buried deep.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll dig it up, I’m sure.”

Sam smiles wanly. “I wish I had as much faith in myself as you do.”

“Dude, you’ve always been the genius in the family.” Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Dean barrels on. “Any way we can use the sting to unearth some information?”

Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Crowley got taken in, right?” Dean nods. The news this morning had mentioned Crowley’s arrest. “Okay. Then we can see which prosecutors get which cases. Or which cop lets Crowley out. Whatever. We track what happens to Crowley, we learn who some of the corrupt people are. Then we go from there.”

“Sounds good.”

Dean’s lunch hour is almost over, so he swallows his last morsel and stands up to leave. Sam says he thinks he’ll have more solid information soon. They agree Sam should stop by for dinner later this week so they can discuss his latest findings.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sam and Jess come over one evening for dinner, and Dean makes meatloaf with cornbread and salad. Meg dutifully takes a small helping of salad, and she notes that Cas’s serving is even smaller than hers. Dean, on the other hand, eats none of it, while Sam and Jess fill up at least half their plate with the salad. Dean’s slice of meatloaf is bigger than Sam’s and Jess’s put together. Both Meg and Cas cut sizable portions for themselves, not as large as Dean’s but smaller than the others’.

Dean’s food really is fucking delicious. If he ever wanted to open up a restaurant, Meg’d be a regular for sure. If she planned on staying here that long.

After supper, Jess drags her to the living room, claiming she wants to see the clothes Meg bought. Meg knows it’s a ruse to keep her away while the men talk business, but she doesn’t mind. She’ll wheedle it out of them later. Besides, Jess seems pretty cool, even if she’s hotter than Meg could ever hope to be. It’d be nice to learn more about her.

“You look badass,” Jess comments as they pull the boxes toward the couch. Meg raises a skeptical eyebrow. She probably looks like a wannabe tough chick, with her black leather pants and plaid red shirt. She’d complete the ensemble with a black leather jacket if wearing one inside wouldn’t be weird. (She loves leather jackets, and after much coaxing, Cas had allowed her to buy one.)

“Sure,” Meg mutters sarcastically.                       

“I’m serious. I wish I could pull that off.”

Meg studies Jess’s outfit, a pair of dark blue jeans and a white button-up top. Leather pants would accentuate those long, no doubt gorgeous, legs. (Shut up. Meg is _not_ jealous. If she’d been as beautiful as Jess, who knows what else Dad would’ve done with her? It’s hard to think she could’ve been exploited any more than she had been, but pretty girls . . . they don’t last long in Dad’s world. Someone becomes obsessed, stalks them, murders them, perhaps worse. That’s if they stay kind. If they don’t, then an edge glints in their eyes, something harsh that belies the beauty. Or they find some other way to dim their glow and make themselves less of a target.)

“You could,” Meg tells Jess. “You’ve got the legs for them.”

Jess flushes. “No. I’m kind of . . . I couldn’t . . . it doesn’t match my personality.” Jess drags one of the boxes closer to her. “Let’s see what else you bought.”

Meg leans back and props her feet on the coffee table. Jess eyes her black boots with admiration. Meg really doesn’t want to talk about clothes. They’re fun and all, and she’s glad she’d been able to get things she likes. But she’s not the type of woman who likes to gab about clothes and shoes and shit. Discuss them for maybe two seconds, sure, but that shit gets boring fast.

“Let’s look at it later,” Meg suggests.

“Later? What do you want to do, watch TV?”

“Nah. Let’s just chat.”

“Chat?”

“Yeah.” It’s cool to talk to someone who’s not Cas or Dean for once. Cas is considerate and interesting, and Dean has his moments (she grudgingly admits), but it gets tedious having conversations with only them.

“Okay.”

“What do you do, Jess?” She’d like to know more about Jess than who she’s married to.

“I’m a social worker. I work in foster care.”

“That’s nice.” Would Meg’s life have been better if she’d grown up in foster care? Her dad wouldn’t have pimped her out, but she’s heard all sorts of horror stories about foster care from drug dealers and other prostitutes. Abuse of all kinds, and no one gives a fuck about them . . . at least she’d known Dad valued her for _something_ , even if it was her pussy.

Hopefully Jess can stop that shit from happening to other kids.

“How do you like it?” Meg asks.

“It’s difficult. We have so few resources, and sometimes the system just . . . ” Jess sighs. “Sometimes we leave kids with parents when I don’t think we should. And then there are some of the foster families I just _know_ are in it for the checks, but we can’t find anything to prove it. Not to say they’re all like that. Most of them are in it for the right reasons, but there are the dodgier ones, and we have only so many foster families in the first place. I do what I can, but sometimes it’s just not enough, and, ugh . . . ” She smiles self-consciously. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”

“No. It’s fine.”  It had been interesting to hear Jess list all the problems with the foster care system; it confirms what she’s already heard. If anyone can help lessen the problems, it’s Jess. She seems smart and warm-hearted.

“I’d like to be a foster mom myself one day. There’s never enough foster homes, and I want to help in any way I can.”

“Have you talked about it with Sam?”

Jess’s eyes suddenly look shifty. “I’ve mentioned it a couple of times. We’d have to wait until we’re a little more settled, of course.”

“Of course,” Meg echoes absently. She can’t think of anything else to say, and neither can Jess, apparently. She doesn’t mind the silence at first, but then she feels an itch to snap it, only she doesn’t know what to do. She settles on grabbing the remote and stating, “Perhaps we should watch some TV after all.”

“Okay.”

She flips channels several times and eventually leaves the TV on some random CBS crime show. She’s only halfway paying attention, and she thinks the same is true of Jess. But it makes the silence feel more companionable.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel’s eyes flick between Sam and Dean. He thinks the plan to have Jess distract Meg is patently obvious, not to mention ridiculous. Meg may not be the most trustworthy person in the world, but she’s still a valuable asset. She can sketch out the details when Sam presents his information. She’s the one who’d set this investigation into motion, and she’s an equal stakeholder.

He’ll just have to fill Meg in later tonight, once Dean’s gone to sleep, and get her input on the proceedings.

“Let’s talk about Crossroads first,” Sam proposes. “You said you got some pictures, Dean?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Dean whips out his phone and hands it to Sam, who scrolls through the photographs. Castiel had wondered why he didn’t just forward the pictures to Sam. Dean had said he was afraid that someone could be tapping into the network, spying on citizens. They might know Dean has the photos, but he doesn’t have to implicate Sam, too.

Even Meg had thought Dean was being too paranoid. Castiel suspects it’s a residual effect of John Winchester’s legacy. Dean’s father had died before Castiel met his boyfriend, but he’s heard a few stories. Dean’s talked about how his dad wasn’t a bad guy, just broken from their mom’s death when Dean was four. About how he became morose and paranoid after that, constantly spouting out conspiracy theories about how the government was intruding into their lives.

Castiel returns to the present moment at the sound of Dean’s voice. “Meg says they’re worthless.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Sam declares.  “This is good circumstantial evidence. Even if Crowley claims ignorance . . . this stuff is still going down at an establishment he owns. That counts for something. Everything we can get matters.”

“Awesome,” Dean responds. Castiel knows that Dean, just like him, is glad their trip to Crossroads had not been pointless. The arrest had been a jarring experience, but luckily Sam had helped get the charges dropped. He hates that Sam used his position to help him. After all, they’re using others’ similar actions to trace corruption, following the threads to wherever they lead. But Sam had insisted the charges should be dismissed.

“What’d you find out about Victor Henriksen?” Dean asks.

“It’s not looking good. He resigned from the Dallas PD under questionable circumstances.”

“Questionable circumstances?”

“Yeah. It’s not exactly clear. Something about maybe taking bribes? There wasn’t any solid evidence, but a few of his colleagues reported their suspicions.”

“Fuck. Guess that means we can’t trust him?”

“I’d say so.”

“Wait, what?” Castiel interrupts. “Were you two contemplating drawing in Henriksen as a potential ally?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean replies, as if stating the obvious. “Who wouldn’t want a good cop on their side?”

Anger, strong and thick, settles in his gut. He knows it’s irrational, and he doesn’t understand why he’s so furious, but that doesn’t stop him from barreling on. “You two were thinking of bringing in a police officer? After everything we’ve heard from Meg about law enforcement?”

“They can’t all be bad—” Dean argues.

“But we don’t know which ones to trust. We _can’t_ trust any of them unless we _know_ the person. Inside and out. No matter how this Henriksen appears to us, we don’t know him well enough to approach him.”

“Yeah, just like we know Meg so well, huh?” Dean snaps. “You want to tell her _every fucking thing_ , let her sit in with us, and we know _jackshit_ about her.”

“That’s different. She initiated this investigation in the first place—”

“Doesn’t mean anything. She could be setting us up.”

That makes no sense. They’d been complete strangers to her. “Why would she--?”

“Guys,” Sam interjects. “We weren’t sure we’d actually talk to Henriksen, Cas. He’s new in town, you see, and we were just exploring the possibilities.”

“Exploring the possibilities,” Castiel fumes. “Without consulting me.”

“Like you consulted me before you brought Meg home?” Dean seethes. “That’s a _big fucking deal_ , Cas! All the crap you bring here, and I indulge you—”

“You _indulge_ me?!”

“You’re lucky I put up with that shit. No one else would. I swear, the way you act . . . sometimes you’re a goddamn _child_.”

“Oh.” It feels like the syllable has been strangled out of him. Dean knows he’s aiming where it hurts. How it brings to mind all those times his parents had berated him for being immature, a baby, too sensitive, too weak . .  .

Castiel stands up and stalks toward the front door.

“Cas! Where are you going?” Sam shouts.

Castiel ignores him. He clambers into his car, and now he allows the tears to fall. They cloud his vision as he drives toward the university.

xxxxxxxxxx

Cas doesn’t slam the door; he just shuts it. The calm departure scares Dean more than it would’ve if Cas had stormed out.

Sam turns back to Dean and glares. “Don’t you think you were a little too hard on him?”

“What? It’s true.” But Dean realizes he’s gone too far.

Sam rolls his eyes. “God, you can be such a dick sometimes.”

“What? He started it,” Dean asserts, but there’s not much heat behind his words.

Meg pops into the kitchen. “What happened?” Dean narrows his eyes at her. It’s none of her business. She rolls her eyes in exasperation.

Jess appears a second later. “Yeah. What happened?”

“Dean and Cas are idiots,” Sam declares.

“Hey!” Dean exclaims.

“What? That’s one of the dumbest fights I’ve ever seen.” He’s right. Dean doesn’t even understand _why_ he and Cas had been fighting. All he knows is that Cas’d suddenly gotten all pissed because he and Sam had talked about Henriksen’s trustworthiness without him, and things escalated quickly.

Maybe Cas had felt that way for good reason. But Dean was right, too. Cas never had the courtesy to ask him if it was okay to bring one of his strays home, and before Dean knew it, he’d progressed to letting some random prostitute crash at their house, and they’d  suddenly become private investigators.

He guesses that last part is kinda cool, but it’s also a hassle. And dangerous as hell.

But Cas’s heart . . . it’s one of Dean’s favorite things about him, too, and watching Cas take care of strays always warms him.

“C’mon, Sam,” Jess replies as she joins them at the table. “You can’t say we’ve never fought about stupid shit.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs.

Meg sits down beside Jess. “Does this mean you’re done talking shop?”

Dean turns to Sam. “I dunno. Are we?”

“Duh. Why would we keep going without Cas?”

“Why not?” Sam scowls at him. “No, really. No one told the dude to leave.” Besides, if they stop, Dean’s gonna be left alone with his guilt. He’d dealt Cas a low blow, hitting where he knew Cas to be most vulnerable. After all Cas had confided in him about how his parents had harped on his instincts to help, to care, as childish and naïve, he’d gone and hurled that very accusation at his boyfriend. “We didn’t even talk about much yet.”

“What did you talk about?” Meg asks. Like they should be an open book for someone they don’t really know.

“Not much,” Sam responds. “Just Lieutenant Victor Henriksen.”

“The guy in charge of the raid at Crossroads?” Dean does a double take; he doesn’t think anyone’s talked about Henriksen around her. “What? It was on the news.”

“I looked into his background a little bit,” Sam explains.

Meg nods. “Good idea. He hasn’t been around long enough for me to know much about him.”

“His record isn’t spotless.”

“Figures.”

Sam stands up. “I’ll keep following the trail. Find where all the business deeds and leases lead.” He eyes Dean, and Dean nods. Fine. It’d be difficult to keep the conversation going without including Meg at this point. He wishes they’d been more productive tonight, but Dean just had to go and put his foot in his mouth.

Jess and Sam tender their goodbyes; then Dean is left alone with Meg, and the atmosphere is awkward.

“So, what happened?” Meg repeats.

Like he’s gonna hash that shit out with her. “I’m going to bed,” he announces before stumbling toward the bedroom. He strips down to his T-shirt and boxers and huddles under the covers. He calls Cas again and again, but it keeps going straight to voicemail. He leaves messages apologizing, texts about being sorry, but he still only gets radio silence.

xxxxxxxxxx

Meg’s not surprised that Dean gives her the cold shoulder. At first, she’s worried about both Dean and Cas and what the argument might signal. Then she wonders why she should give a shit about Dean when he clearly doesn’t give a shit about her. And Cas? Later, she realizes she shouldn’t be so concerned about him, either. She hasn’t even known him for two weeks. Besides, caring about anyone is a big mistake. Eventually, everyone throws you under the bus. It hurts too much; better to stick to looking out for numero uno. Just look at what happened tonight between Dean and Cas.

She jerks awake at the sound of the front door opening. She must’ve drifted off.

Cas slides through the doorway. The light from the lamp casts shadows on his figure, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes, uncharacteristically dull and bleak.

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmurs. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She glances at the clock. It’s a little after four.

“I won’t be here long. I’m just going to change my clothes then go back to campus.”

“You’re not going to talk to Dean?”

“I’d rather not.”

“What happened?” Not that she cares, really. She just wants to know what all the fuss was about. Cas takes one step and trips, catching himself just before he falls. “Whoa. Maybe you should sit down.”

She scoots to the other side of the sofa, and he sinks down next to her. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

“No shit.”  They silently study each other for a few minutes. It’s awkward as fuck, so she breaks the quiet. “Are you gonna answer my question?”

Cas shrugs. “It was stupid.”

“Okay. And?”

“I had no idea he felt that way about me.”

“What way?”

Cas gives her a guarded look. “I’d rather not say.”

“Okay.” That’s fine by her. It’s not like they’re best friends or anything.

“The argument was my fault. Nevertheless. His remarks were certainly . . . a revelation.”

Meg ponders the matter for a moment. “Whatever he said, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” Cas opens his mouth to protest, but Meg keeps going. “Listen. He loves you very much.” Cas appears skeptical. God, what a moron. “I can tell.”

“You can?”

“Yeah. You guys should probably talk.”

“Perhaps.” Cas gets to his feet. “But not yet. Maybe when I come home this evening.”

“All right.”

Why the hell had she tried to _comfort_ Cas, of all things?

She just didn’t want to deal with him moping around is all. That probably explains it.

xxxxxxxxxx

Not long before dawn, Dean hears the rumble of voices in the living room. He’s about to rush in to see Cas when he thinks better of it. Maybe he should wait until Cas comes to the bedroom.

When the door swings open, Dean rasps, “Hey, Cas.”

“Oh. Hello, Dean. I did not know you were awake,” Cas replies softly. He sounds utterly miserable, and Dean’s heart lurches.

Dean clambers out of the bed and faces him. “Cas—”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . I should have remained calm. The thing with Victor Henriksen was not as important as all that.”

“No, Cas, _I’m_ sorry. I should’ve never said what I did.”

Cas blinks at him then averts his eyes. “No. You are right. I should never have brought home any of those animals . . . or Meg . . . without asking first. It’s selfish of me.”

Okay, if Cas believes that nonsense Dean had spouted earlier . . . “No, Cas. You’re the most selfless person I know.”

“But—”

“But nothing. You take in the wounded and the lost and you help. I fucking _love_ that about you.” Not to mention that Dean had been one of those strays once. Who knows where he’d be without meeting Cas?

“You do?” Cas sputters. His eyes sparkle with hope.

“Hell yes I do.” He approaches Cas. “And I love you.” He grips Cas’s shoulders and pushes him against the wall, gazing into Cas’s eyes for one long moment before fusing their lips together. 

After a little bit, Dean pulls back for air. Cas’s lips, so tantalizing, are mere inches from his. “I love you, too, Dean,” Cas whispers, his breath hitting Dean’s lips as he speaks.

“Hmm.” They lock lips again, and Dean licks into Cas’s mouth. Cas’s tongue snakes around Dean’s inviting and _delicious_. Dean skims his hands down Cas’s muscular arms, stopping at his waist. He insinuates his hands underneath Cas’s shirt and revels in the feel of Cas’s chest underneath his hands. Cas leans back against the wall, and Dean presses his body against Cas’s. His dick, thinly veiled by his boxers, presses against Cas’s fully clothed one, and Cas hisses. He unbuttons Cas’s black slacks and reaches inside, grazing his fingertips over Cas’s cock. Cas moans with pleasure, but then he inexplicably pulls back—

“No, Dean. Meg will hear us.”

“We’ll be quiet.”

Cas looks dubious, but when Dean resumes stroking his dick, Cas sinks against the wall, lost in sensation. Dean lets Cas’s pants drop to the ground then tugs down his boxers. He kneels, undoing Cas’s shoelaces with one hand while fingering Cas’s slit with the other. Cas sighs, his head falling back. He helps Cas step out of his shoes and peels off his socks. He runs his hands over Cas’s calves and thighs as he coaxes Cas out of the boxers and pants. His hands migrate upward, taking the opportunity to squeeze Cas’s ass on the way up to his button-down. He sucks on Cas’s clavicle, savoring the taste of skin as he undoes Cas’s buttons. Dean backs up to let Cas’s shirt tumble to the floor. Without the support of Dean’s hands, Cas halfway falls against the wall.

Dean picks up Cas and carries him, bridal-style, to the bed. He knows that always impresses Cas, and Dean’ll carry a naked Cas any chance he gets.

He sets Cas gently on the bed before climbing on himself. Cas grips the bottom of Dean’s T-shirt. “Too many clothes,” he rasps as he tears off the shirt. Cas tosses the item to the floor, and Dean throws his boxers after it.

Dean grinds down against Cas, and they moan. Somehow, even lost in sensation, Cas chokes out, “We can’t be too loud.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dean replies.

Cas gives him an arch look and rolls to the other side of the bed. “Then you can pleasure yourself.”

“Cas,” Dean whimpers. Cas just gazes back at him defiantly, and Dean sighs. “Fine.” He’ll make an effort to keep the volume down. Cas examines him before nodding and spreading his legs wide. Dean slots himself between them. When he bites down on a nipple, Cas surges upward, muffling a groan against his own arm. Dean licks down until he reaches Cas’s dick, which he gladly takes into his mouth. Cas snatches at Dean’s hair with one hand, urging him on as Dean takes him deeper, deeper, wanting all of Cas in his mouth. He suckles for all he’s worth, craving Cas, desiring his essence. Cas bucks faster and faster, his increasingly frantic cries partially dampened by the arm clamped over his mouth. God, Dean can’t wait to devour Cas’s spend, ingest him. Just the idea of having something of Cas inside him . . . his cock has been at attention for an almost painfully long time, and now it grows impossibly harder.

“Dean, I’m gonna—” Cas gasps out.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Dean huffs, the tip of Cas’s dick still on his tongue.

Cas stills above him, thighs quivering with the effort. “No, I want . . . I want you inside me first.”

Dean suppresses a groan. Yeah, he wants that, too, but—“I wanna taste you.”

Cas studies him before replying. “Okay. But—prep me at least. I still want you inside me.” The last statement comes out sounding a little petulant, and Dean grins to himself. Demanding Cas . . . that's hot. 

Dean pulls out the lube and condom from the top drawer of the nightstand. He leaves the condom on the blanket for the time being and cracks open the bottle, slathering a generous portion on his fingers. His eyes meet Cas’s. “Ready?” Cas nods.

Dean presses one finger into Cas’s ass, pushing in at a steady, gentle pace. Cas shoves down against the touch, insistent. “I need more,” Cas whines.

“Patience, hon,” Dean murmurs, licking his lips. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“Mmm.” He insinuates another finger inside Cas and wraps his lips around Cas’s shaft once more. He licks over the expanse, and Cas seeks the pressure from both ends at the same time, thrashing, eyes wild—that uncharacteristic abandon Dean only sees when they fuck. An image that never fails to arouse Dean.

“More,” Cas rasps. “Need you. Inside.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean inserts a third digit. This time, he scissors and crooks his fingers. Cas cries out when Dean finally hits his prostate, caution apparently long forgotten.

“I’m going to—” Cas warns in a whisper.

“ _Do it_ ,” Dean growls.

Dean presses his nails against Cas’s prostate when he adds a fourth finger. With one final jerk and a shout, Cas spills into Dean’s mouth, and Dean laps up every drop. He smirks. So much for being quiet.

“God,” Cas breathes, skin flushed, sweat dripping down his temples. 

Dean pushes his fingers deeper into Cas’s ass, and Cas squirms. “Is this okay?” Dean asks.

“Yes.”

“We can stop. If it’s too much.” Cas might be too sensitive to continue, and Dean can live with that. He’d love his cock inside Cas, of course, but this is all about Cas, showering him with love and apologies.

“I want it.” Cas’s eyes flash. “I fucking _need_ it.” He snatches at Dean’s dick. “Give it to me. _Now_.”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. Damn Cas. He knows Dean can’t resist when he’s bossy. Dean hurriedly slaps on the condom and lathers himself up with lube. Then he presses the tip of himself into Cas’s hole.

“Don’t go slow,” Cas asserts.

Yeah, that might actually be a good idea . . . if he stimulates an oversensitive Cas for too long, well . . .

He drives into Cas until he’s fully seated, and Cas relaxes against the bed.

“Fuck me,” Cas pants.

Cas rarely curses, but he can have a filthy mouth during sex, and . . . fine, everything about Cas is a turn on. He pulls out, pushes in, and Cas gasps. Dean thrusts, and thrusts, and thrusts, rougher and deeper. His lips latch onto Cas’s, and his hips stutter. “Fucking love you,” Dean confesses against Cas’s lips.

“Yes. Me, too,” Cas breathes.

And that’s all she wrote, folks. Dean comes, limbs trembling with the force of it. Cas clutches him tightly and pets him through the aftershocks.

When Dean pulls out, he ties the condom and hurls it in the direction of the trash. He and Cas collapse against the bed as they steadily come down.

Dean switches off the bedside lamp, wraps his arms around Cas, and holds him close. He lays his ear against Cas’s neck. The steady rhythm of his boyfriend’s pulse soothes him.

“Meg was right,” Cas mumbles.

Dean freezes. “What?”

Cas snuggles back against Dean. “She said you didn’t mean it.”

“You told her what happened?” He tells his brain to zip it. They’d just made up; he’s not gonna get mad again.

“Of course not. But she thought we should talk about whatever it was.”

“Huh.”

Imagine that. Why would Meg care about mending the rift between them? _Guess she’s not so bad._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a reference to sexual violence, interrupted sexy times, and gruesome imagery (which includes a dying bird).
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave comments and kudos!

Meg wakes up a little after noon. Apparently, she’d slept through Dean and Cas leaving for work. After all that noise they’d been making shortly before dawn, it’s no wonder. It hadn’t been so bad at first, just the faint echoes of sexual pleasure through the walls as she’d dozed off with a smirk. She’d _known_ those idiots would eventually make up and fall into bed. She’d been surprised they hadn’t fucked yet while she’d been around, actually, as they always gave each other these embarrassingly affectionate looks.

But the sounds became increasingly obscene, and they were both shouting. Cas, usually the more reserved of the two, was actually much louder. _It’s always the quiet ones who’re freaks in bed._

She’d been pissed and tired; they weren’t letting her get any damn sleep.

But now, refreshed, she reflects on their lovemaking with amusement. How ridiculous they must’ve been, begging, whining, sickeningly lovey-dovey afterward, laying naked and sweaty in each other’s arms.

Naked and sweaty . . .

And grinding against each other. Pity she couldn’t have watched. It would’ve been _hot_. After all, they’re two _very gorgeous_ men—

Her face heats up at the image. What the hell is wrong with her?

After eating a bowl of Cheerios, she tries to think of what to watch. It’s not like there’s anything else to do in this place. She’s grown a little tired of the offerings on Netflix, so she browses the DVD collection stored underneath the TV. _Star Wars_ , _Die Hard_ , _Caddyshack_. Ugh. Sounds like the kinda crap Dean would go for. _It’s a Wonderful Life_. She’s heard of that; it’s supposed to be one of those syrupy sweet feel-good holiday movies. Sounds ripe for shits and giggles.

Two hours and a few cries later, she’s grinning like a fool.

God, something’s really not right with her today. She should hate this movie. It’s so damn unrealistic; nothing ever turns out that great in real life.

But the movie had been darker than she’d expected. Oh, sure, she’d almost barfed at the cheesy line about angels getting their wings every time a bell rings, and George Bailey was annoyingly pure. But that banker . . . she’s met plenty of people like that.

As the end credits begin to roll, she startles at the sound of someone unlocking the door. It’s too early for either of the men to be back.

Cas steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind him. When he sees Meg, he drops his briefcase and approaches her. “Meg, what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing,” she snaps. Cas recoils a little, and she realizes she might’ve spoken a little too harshly. She swipes at the moisture on her cheeks and— _oh_ , that’s why Cas had asked her what’s wrong. She’d been blubbering like a moron because of that idiotic tearjerker. She _hates_ tearjerkers. She jeers at them; she _doesn’t_ get pulled in by them.

Cas looks like he’s about to speak again, so Meg preempts him. She smiles to herself; she’s gonna have a little fun with this. “What’re you doing back so early, Clarence?”

“I couldn’t concentrate on my work in the office—wait, why did you call me Clarence?” He frowns in confusion.

“You’re an angel.”

Cas’s expression grows even more bewildered. “No, I am a human—”

Meg rolls her eyes. He can’t be that dense, can he? “Your name, stupid.”

“My name?— _oh_! . . . But what does that have to do with the name ‘Clarence’?”

“He’s the angel in _It’s a Wonderful Life_ , dumbass.”

Cas narrows his eyes at her. “Don’t call me—” They both glance at the TV when the DVD menu’s music starts to play. “Oh. You’ve been watching it.”

“Obviously.”

He sits on the opposite end of the couch and studies her. His gaze is so damn _intense_ , and she wants to cower against the armrest. But she won’t. She’s faced down worse; this goody two-shoes isn’t going to intimidate her.

“I wouldn’t have thought it would appeal to you.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.” He actually smirks, the cheeky bastard.

She blushes and averts her eyes. She can’t argue with him when he’s like— _that_. Looming. She wonders if this is what he’s like with his students. If so, she doesn’t envy them.

“Shut up,” she mutters.

“You said you’d been interested in the occult once.” He tilts his head, putting Meg in mind of a curious bird.

“Yeah, so?”

“Why?”

She crosses her arms over her chest and side eyes him. “None of your damn business.”

Cas’s grin turns reassuring. “Of course. I did not mean to pry.”

The truth is pathetic, actually. When she was seventeen, one of the drug pushers she’d met had been into witchcraft. They’d become fast friends for a while, and Meg had thought that, if she could learn enough, she could find some way out of her circumstances. Maybe even get revenge on Alastair. By then, Alastair had been a regular client for a few months, and his tastes had overwhelmed her. He fucked ruthlessly, at times like she was nothing but a rag doll, but that’s nothing compared to the things his sick imagination conjured. He’d dabbled in light blood play, stuck objects inside her—and that first time, with his—

She shivers.

“Meg?”

Cas’s voice brings her back to reality. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?” His eyes are wide with concern.

“’Course I am,” she hurls, curling her lips into a sneer. She doesn’t want his damn pity. That shit’s patronizing. She flees to the bathroom before Cas can formulate a reply.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean and Cas still need to know what Sam’s findings have been so far. Rather than having Sam and Jess over for dinner again, Cas suggests they meet in his office for lunch. Cas has plenty of time between his classes today, and Sam can take an extended lunch. Dean, on the other hand, is usually on a time crunch. Sam says he can just relay information to Cas, who can tell Dean everything at night. But Dean’s not on board with that. If he has any questions, he wants Sam to answer them. So Dean feigns illness to leave work early. Before he can depart, though, he’s ambushed by Andy, who offers to sell him some pot.

“It might help,” Andy claims.

Damn, is Dean tempted to indulge. He’s still got that stash he’d procured at Crossroads. Is that still in his car? Shit. He better get it out of there fast. Then he could smoke it, relax. But Cas wouldn’t approve, so where would he smoke it? Here, at the site? Andy would wonder where he’d gotten it and why he hadn’t said anything about it earlier.

“Maybe later,” Dean tells Andy.

As he heads toward the university, Dean wonders whether he should take up Andy’s offer to plug into the drug trade. Not for the money, of course, but Andy’s clearly got some connections. Crowley, one of the people who runs the underground network of this damn town, had vaguely recognized his name. Connected it back to State Senator Dick Roman. What did Crowley say about Andy’s relationship to Dick Roman? He should ask Andy about it sometime.

He arrives at Cas’s office after Sam. When he enters, Cas locks the door behind him then returns to the small sofa across from Sam’s chair. Dean joins him.

“Okay,” Sam begins after swallowing a bite of salad. “Here’s what I’ve got. So, you know the mayor’s platform about revitalizing the city?”

“Uh huh,” Dean mumbles.

“He’s got a lotta projects in the works. Parks and other community spaces.”

“Like the library.”

“Yeah.”

“Meg said Lilith owns all the companies that won the contracts,” Cas cuts in. “Have they been making money by utilizing subpar supplies?”

“I dunno,” Dean states. “The library seems kinda fancy. I don’t feel like I’ve been workin’ with cheap materials.”

“The community center they just finished building on the other side of town passed inspection,” Sam informs them.

“Alastair may have bribed the inspectors,” Cas suggests.

“True.”

“Or maybe the building just turned out decent,” Dean counters.

“Perhaps Alastair is being more cautious with the library,” Cas theorizes. “Everyone will scrutinize it once it’s finished. If it doesn’t hold up, he and Lilith will be ruined. But they won’t be as rigorous with the community centers.”

“Shit. You think he might’ve used crappy materials for that?” Dean responds. The idea of shortchanging disadvantaged youth to pocket money makes him sick.

“There’s no way to verify the quality of the community center,” Sam points out. “We’d have to hire an independent investigator, and we don’t have the money for that. Not to mention someone on Alastair’s payroll might get wind of it.”

“We can see if there’s anything apparent to the naked eye,” Cas opines.

“I don’t think they’d be that sloppy,” Sam replies.

“It might still be worth a look,” Dean says.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt . . . Anyway. All of the companies who got the contracts have ties to Lilith Heller, Alastair Badham, and Fergus Crowley. It’s a confusing tangle. Most of them aren’t in any of their names, but the big contracts, like the library, are explicitly owned by Ms. Heller. Crowley’s a major stakeholder in Heller Enterprises, too, and the mayor used to be.”

“Used to be?” Dean echoes.

“Yeah. He sold his share right after becoming mayor.”

“I see,” Cas declares. “If he’d stayed connected to the company, then they wouldn’t have been able to gain any of the contracts. Conflict of interest.”

“Exactly. But it looks like he may be using proxies. A couple of the more recent buyers of shares are unexpected—people who don’t have stable jobs.”

“Perhaps they inherited some money,” Cas states.

“I don’t think so. They’re shiftless. They don’t stay anywhere for that long.”

Dean flushes. _Shiftless_. That’s like him, and Sam’s tone . . . it had been dismissive. As if he doesn't think much of such individuals. _I wonder what he thinks of me? Is he disappointed? Ashamed?—_

“Dean?” Cas’s voice intones, bringing Dean back to the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“’Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look . . . pensive.”

Pensive? That’s an odd way to put it. “Can’t a guy get lost in thought?”

“I suppose.”

“As I was saying,” Sam continues, “Some of the other contracting companies are hard to track. They seem nonexistent, rooted in overseas banks. Accounts with untraceable owners.”

“Is that legal?” Cas asks.

“In some countries, yeah. Oh, and something else. Get this. Bids from other companies have been turned down.”

“No shit,” Dean mutters.

“Companies with some of the best reputations in the nation. Companies who’d quoted lower estimates than Heller Enterprises or any of their shells.”

“How does Badham justify that?” Dean inquires.

“Dunno. No one’s ever put the question to him.”

“Maybe it’s time someone does.”

“Perhaps we can question him,” Cas suggests. “We could attend a city council meeting.” God, sounds like a snoozefest. He’ll leave that to Cas and Sam.

“It might take forever,” Sam replies. “I’ve been to a couple of those meetings. They usually don’t get to everyone who shows up. It can take three or so weeks to even get to talk.”

“Then what’re we supposed to do, just show up at his office?” Dean responds.

“There’s a town hall meeting next week. Badham likes to keep up a semblance of transparency.”

“How is that different from a city council meeting?”

“It’s more informal. Much easier to get your voice heard.”

“Perhaps we should attend the town hall meeting,” Cas proposes.

“I’ll leave that to you two,” Dean says.

“Dean,” Sam snaps.

“What?”

“We should all go. We might notice different things. Every perspective counts.”

“Fine,” Dean mumbles.

Cas leans forward, brushing his lips over Dean’s neck before whispering in his ear. “You’ll be suitably rewarded.”

“Hmm.” Cas snakes an arm around his shoulders, and Dean sinks back against him.

“Ugh. Wait for me to leave at least,” Sam complains.

After Sam scurries out of the office, Cas locks the door behind him and raises an eyebrow. Dean stands up and pins Cas’s wrists against the wall. His lips dart toward Cas’s, and they meet halfway. He drowns in the taste, but he wants more. He grinds his thigh against Cas’s groin, and soon, he feels Cas’s dick hardening underneath his black slacks.

God, he can never get enough of Cas.

Dean releases Cas’s wrists, and Cas’s hands grip Dean’s waist. Lust-filled blue eyes flit to Dean’s, and _it’s on_. Cas shoves him against the desk, quickly sweeping away the contents with one hand before Dean falls backward. It’s always hot when they fuck in here, the illicit nature of it, the thrill of potential discovery. There’d even been one delicious time when they’d played out Dean’s teacher-student seduction fantasy. (With Dean as the student being fucked within an inch of his life by teacher Cas, of course.)

Cas drapes himself over Dean and noses at Dean’s collarbone before trailing his lips up toward Dean’s mouth. As their lips lock, Cas’s hands insinuate themselves underneath Dean’s shirt. Dean melts into Cas’s rough hands as they explore his chest, and he tugs at Cas’s hair to urge him on.

Someone knocks on the door.

Cas quickly pries his lips off of Dean’s. “Dammit,” he breathes.

“Don’t answer it,” Dean murmurs.

Cas straightens up. “I have to. It’s my office hours.” He tries to smooth down his hair, but tufts still stick up every which way.

Cas opens the door a sliver, and Dean lingers behind him, rubbing a hand over Cas’s lower back.

“Oh. Hello, Ava,” Cas says. He steps outside and eyes Dean as if waiting for him. Dean follows, and Cas shuts the door behind him.

“Hi, Dr. Novak,” the girl—Ava—replies. She glances at Dean curiously.

“Um. This is my boyfriend. Dean.” Cas turns to him. “This is one of my students. Ava.”

After Dean and Ava shake hands, she remarks, “I didn’t know you were gay.”

Cas’s brows furrow in confusion for one brief second before he nods. Dean and Cas had talked about this, about how Cas rarely felt attracted to anyone, so he wasn’t sure how to classify himself. After doing some research, they’d concluded that he probably falls into the asexuality spectrum. But that’s too complicated to explain to most people, let alone a random student.

“I was wondering if we could talk about some of the comments on my paper?”

“Of course.”

“I was just leaving,” Dean declares. “Nice meeting you.” _Not. Thanks for the case of blue balls._

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel snags a parking spot, grabs his briefcase, and dashes toward the English building. He’s running uncharacteristically late. Unlike Dean, he doesn’t have completely set hours (other than class times, office hours, and department meetings). He makes it a habit to arrive as early as possible. It’s easier to grade and write in the office than at home.

But he’d stayed behind to update Meg. Dean can’t object. It’s not like she won’t eventually know their plans, anyway.

“You’re seriously thinking of confronting Alastair in _public_?” Meg had retorted.

“Yes,” Cas had replied.

“That’s the stupidest thing you could do. Like throwing up a neon sign that you’re a threat.”

“We’re going to bring up only what’s in the public records. Everyone has access to it . . . in fact, I’m surprised the newspaper hasn’t picked up on it.”

“Because they’re not morons. And Alastair’s probably got the manager on his payroll.”

“Even if our questions make him suspicious, it doesn’t matter. Everyone at the town hall meeting will hear it; he can hardly come after us then. People won’t believe it’s a coincidence.”

“You overestimate human nature. Remember Balthazar Angle?”

“Balthazar . . .” The name did ring a bell, but he didn’t know why.

Meg patted his arm. “Get Perry Mason to look it up sometime.”

“Who?”

She shoved his elbow halfheartedly. “Always so literal, Clarence. Now. Shouldn’t you get to work?”

And that’s when he’d noticed the time. As he drove out of the apartment complex, he made a mental note to ask Sam about Balthazar Angle and— _oh_. _Perry Mason_. He got it. Though the comparison had been inapt; Sam is a prosecutor . . .

_Always so literal, Clarence._

He smiled to himself.

But the grin abruptly disappears now, when he trips and falls.

His briefcase skitters out of his hand and to the side as he lands on his knees. He glances behind himself to see what he’d stumbled upon. When he comprehends what it is, he swallows.

A blackbird, one wing flapping feebly, a wide eye fixated on him.

“Oh, no,” he whispers to himself, heart bleeding. He picks her up and strokes a finger through her plumage.

He wants to take her home, fix her. But he can’t. She’s already almost gone.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He cradles her in one hand and positions his thumb and forefinger around her neck. Just one flick, and _snap_. Her suffering is over.

A tear drips onto the sidewalk.

He places her on the grass, reverent.

He shuffles the rest of the way toward class, swiping a sleeve over his eyes. In the hallway, his footfalls echo faintly, and he imagines they’re the bird’s plaintive calls.

Had he done the right thing? He couldn’t have helped her, could he?

He hates to think she’d been beyond saving, but snuffing her out . . . that had to have been right, no? He’s not sure he can stand it, he thinks he might’ve chosen wrongly.—

The voices of his students stream toward him from the other end of the hallway. Ava’s speaking now.

“He has a _boyfriend_ , and I’m pretty sure they were about to boink. We talked in the lounge. He wouldn’t even let me look inside his office.”

“Wow. Wouldn’t have pegged him as gay,” Daphne supplies. Castiel’s not sure if he’s actually ever heard her voice; she cowers almost every time he glances her way.

“Yeah. And the boyfriend’s just as hot as he is.”

“Did you get a picture?” Krissy asks.

“Wouldn’t you love to know.”

The gossip abruptly ceases when Castiel nears the classroom door. He unlocks it, and everyone files inside.

After he and the class get settled, Castiel begins, “My apologies for being late. To start our discussion of _Giovanni’s Room_ —”

“Is that why you had us read _Giovanni’s Room_? Because you’re gay?” a student in the back challenges. April. He’s surprised at her outburst. She’s provided some keen insights so far, both in class and in her essays. She’s never seemed like a troublemaker.

“The point of this course is to explore post-Civil War American literature from a wide range of backgrounds and traditions—”

“And push your homosexual agenda on us?”

Castiel cannot fathom what she means, so he just stares.

“Oh, shut up,” Krissy snaps. “You’re just mad because you don’t have a chance with him.”

April flushes and glares at Krissy, who glowers right back. April gives in first, snatching up her belongings and barging out of the room.

Castiel attempts to regain his bearings and commence with the lesson.

xxxxxxxxxx

After the debacle with April, Castiel’s class had gone surprisingly smoothly. Since _Giovanni’s Room_ is such a short book, a majority of the students had actually done the reading for once. The discussion had been illuminating.

In his office, he shoves his briefcase underneath his desk and turns on the computer. Why wait to ask Sam about Balthazar Angle? Presumably, whatever he’d been involved with must be tied to the DA’s office, and Sam could provide him with any information of that sort. But he's insanely curious.

He types the name into the search bar and opens up the first link.

He gasps.

At the top of a page is a gruesome photograph. It shows a man’s dead body lying in a pool of blood, his throat bearing a heavy, deep gash drenched in red. Several other cuts score his body.

It’s Balthazar Angle. He’d been murdered three years ago. Castiel vaguely remembers the case.

About a year and a half before his death, he’d moved to town and opened up a night club, Cloud Nine, complete with strippers and VIP lounges. Crossroads didn’t have any competition in the upscale night club business. Oh, there were other clubs aplenty, but only Crossroads catered to an elite clientele. It made a place of this size seem ripe for a bigger market.

Eventually, Cloud Nine became as profitable as Crossroads. It even started to draw in more customers since, unlike with Crossroads, an invitation wasn’t necessary for admittance.

He began receiving threatening letters and phone calls. He was mugged, and the perpetrator had warned him to close his business or else.

He publicly declared that, if he died, Crowley would be responsible.

But Crowley had never been a suspect. The murder, which had occurred in the alley behind Cloud Nine, had been caught on a security camera. The footage was grainy, but the killer clearly didn’t have Crowley’s build.

A two-bit thug had been tried and convicted for the murder. He claimed to have acted alone. Balthazar had stumbled upon a robbery in progress, he contended. When questioned about why nothing had been taken from Balthazar’s body or Cloud Nine, the man said he’d panicked after killing Balthazar.

According to the story Castiel is reading, the man had died in prison two weeks ago. A heart attack, even though he was only thirty-six.

He understands the point Meg had been making. All of these events had to be more than coincidence, yet no one had looked further into the Crowley connection.

His insides turn to ice.

He’ll do anything to keep that from happening to Dean . . . and oh, God, Sam and Jess . . . and Meg?

Yes, of course. His protective instincts flare up for her, just as they do for the rest of his family.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for marijuana usage, discussion of child abuse, references to self-harm, and gruesome imagery.
> 
> Kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

After his post-work shower, Dean meets Sam at the courthouse. Sam’s working late preparing for a big case starting tomorrow, but he’d still scrounged up enough time to dig up the office’s records about Balthazar Angle’s murder.

Thinking of those pictures Cas had shown him of the crime scene, Dean feels nauseous all over again. So much blood, the man’s body not just stabbed, but freakin’ _mutilated_.

“So, what’ve you got?” Dean asks when he plops down in the chair across from his brother’s.

“Here.” Sam shoves a folder, thick with papers, toward him. Dean whistles. How’s he gonna go through all that shit? “You don’t need to read it all, but I thought I’d give it to you just to be safe. I figure Cas might want to look at it.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. Makes sense. Cas does like to be thorough. Well, if Cas wants to wade through this giant file, he’s welcome to it. “So, you gonna give me the highlights?”

“The case was prosecuted by Ruby Demme, but I don’t think it’s because she’s on Alastair’s payroll.”

“Why the hell not?” She obviously has to be bought by Alastair.

“Because. She hates the mayor.”

“It’s probably a front.”

“I don’t think it is.—”

“Why not?” Dean blurts. “You friends with her or something?”

“Not really.” But Sam sounds like he’s hedging.

“You are.”

“Kind of? I mean, she and I started here at around the same time, and we were both strangers in the department. We stuck together for a while.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not in Alastair’s pocket.”

“She _really_ hates Alastair, Dean. She’s never been shy about letting people know she thinks he’s corrupt. She’s even proposed pressing charges on him. The DA shut that down quickly, and he gave her the shittiest cases for several months.”

Dean perks up with interest. “Really? What did you think about her idea at the time?” He wonders if Sam was suspicious of Alastair even before Meg entered their lives.

Sam shrugs. “As I’ve said before, I’d heard whispers. But I wasn’t concerned about it. I mean, Alastair’s done a lot for the city.”

“And himself,” Dean mutters.

“Yeah, I know that now. I would’ve never guessed how far down his interests go.”

“Uh huh . . . but back to this Ruby. Maybe it was just a bluff.”

“I don’t think so. It was Ruby’s first case. I remember it, because everyone was surprised she’d been chosen for such a high profile case. They probably picked her because she was inexperienced.”

“I guess that’s possible,” Dean concedes. “What about the investigation? Who was in charge?”

“Detective Edgar Levi.”

Dean tries to remember whether he saw a guy with that name at the police station. He doesn’t think so. “He’s probably one of Alastair’s.”

“I’d say so.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Just this. The convicted murderer was a well-known drug dealer. Apparently, he even occasionally worked as a prostitute. He was once arrested for solicitation, along with guess who? Meg.”

“Oh.” So Meg must’ve known the guy, at least a little bit. Dean wonders why she hadn’t mentioned it. He’s definitely asking her about that.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“You’re welcome. You’re about to check out the community center, right?”

“Yeah.” Dean plans to walk around and see if anything pops out at him. He doubts it will, but you never know.

“Let me know if you find anything.”

“Will do.”

The new community center is located on the other side of town. Dean marvels at how decrepit the surrounding neighborhood is. At least a third of the houses are unoccupied, the exterior falling apart. Overgrown grass adorns most of the front yards.

Compared to the neighborhood, the community center is the epitome of luxury. Its well-mown lawn is brilliantly green, and behind the fence, is that—yes, it’s a freakin’ vegetable garden.  A middle-aged woman supervises five kids as they water the plants. He smiles at the sight as he ascends the stone steps. The door swings open to reveal an immaculate lobby with a laminate floor (coated to look like wood) and two hallways branching off. An attractive young woman occupies the information desk.

“Can I help you?” she calls.

“Um. I just wanna take a look around,” Dean replies.

Her brow furrows. Does he sound weird? He hopes he doesn’t seem like some creepy predator. “Would you like a map?” she asks.

“Sure.”

He approaches the desk, and she passes a map to him. She points out a few sections. “This here’s the gym. And over here—” Her finger sweeps from one end of the building to another. “—This is the auditorium where we have the public lectures. There’s not one tonight, but there’s a schedule on the back of the map. And we have some meeting rooms you can reserve. The kitchen and reception hall are available to rent for special occasions.”

“Can I check these places out?” Dean inquires.

“Yes, they’re unlocked, and there’s nothing going on right now.”

“Cool. I’m looking for a spot I can maybe use for . . .  work functions,” he stammers. _Smooth, Winchester_.

“All right. Feel free to look around.”

Dean heads down the hallway to the right. He strolls through the three meeting rooms. So far, so good. The walls, while not the sturdiest, are all okay. The auditorium is located at the end of the hallway. It’s actually pretty swanky, with plush velvet blue carpet and soft lighting. The rows of embedded wooden chairs seat at least two hundred. He climbs the steps to the stage, where he paces every inch of the surface to see if he can spot any weakness in the floor. Nope. There’s a microphone by the lectern, and Dean picks it up. It might be kind of fun to play around with it while alone in here. “Hello,” he tries. The thing’s not on. Figures. Embarrassed, he places the microphone back on the stand. He traipses backstage, where he finds a bunch of random equipment. He traverses the entire expanse, just as he did in the other spaces. Everything sounds normal until he reaches a spot in the back. Something sounds hollow. He taps the tip of his boot once again to make sure he’d actually heard the sound. Yep. Why would it be hollow?

He crouches down to examine the ground. It’s laminate, the quality cheaper than that out near the entrance. Nothing jumps out at him. It’s probably just shoddy work. Wait, against the wall, there’re some giant speakers. He pushes them aside and— _bingo_.

A seam runs along the bottom of the wall. He pries it open with his fingertips to reveal a series of concrete steps. He descends them and discovers a few random boxes. Maybe it’s just a storage area.

The boxes aren’t taped shut, so Dean peeks inside and— _holy shit_.

It’s a cache of friggin’ guns of all sizes. Machine guns and assault rifles and the whole shebang.

Stunned, he darts up the stairs before he can even think of checking out the other boxes. Once out of the alcove, he slams the trapdoor shut and shoves the speakers back against the wall. He stands up and dashes out of the backstage area. On the main stage, he runs smack into another man.

“Whoops. Sorry,” Dean laughs uneasily.

The man fixes him with an unblinking gaze, and despite the instinct to shrink, Dean holds his own. The guy has these freakishly yellow eyes. “What were you doing back there?” he grates out.

“Um. I was just thinking of . . . um,” Dean sputters. The man’s expression grows more ominous, and Dean swallows. “I’m trying to schedule a conference for work. I wanted to see if everyone could fit in here for the keynote address.”

“You needed to do that backstage?”

Dean takes a step back before he can stop himself. “I—I just—”

“You’re not supposed to be back there.”

“Hey, the chick out front said I could look at everything,” Dean retorts, infusing his voice with as much confidence as he can muster.

“Why would you need to go backstage?”

“To see what kinda equipment we’d have to work with.”

The man’s expression relaxes a smidge, but he still looks like he wants to smite Dean. “Ah.”

“Anyway, I’m done. This place has given me a lot to think about.”

“It’s a good venue,” the man assures Dean.

“Uh huh.” Dean can’t get out of there fast enough.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Dean returns to the apartment, he looks more discomposed than Meg has ever seen him. His hair is tousled, and his eyes seem a little . . . spooked.

“Where’s Cas?” he asks as he closes the door.

“He called and said he was gonna stay in his office to catch up on grading. Said to tell you not to postpone dinner for him.” Knowing Dean probably wouldn’t cook for just himself and her, she’s already eaten a Hot Pocket.

“Uh huh. I just ran into the creepiest dude.”

“Really.” Like she cares.

Rather than answering, Dean zips off to his bedroom. That’s fine with her. She’s used to Dean giving her the cold shoulder.

But he returns a moment later with a dimebag, paper, and an ashtray. What the hell?

“You gonna tell Cas if I smoke this?” Dean asks.

“Depends. Do I get some?” She sure could use a joint right now. Plus, it’s fun to mess with Dean. He narrows his eyes at her. “What? Quid pro quo, baby.”

“Ugh, fine.” Dean sinks down next to her on the couch.

“You’re gonna smoke that in here?” Meg blurts.

“Yeah, why not?”

Meg rolls her eyes. God, how can he be so stupid? “Cas’ll smell it when he gets home, dumbass.”

“Oh.” For once, he ignores the insult, and Meg’s a little disappointed. It’s no fun if he doesn’t play along. “Guess you’re not gettin’ any, then.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause I have to go outside.”

“I can come, too.”

“Someone might see you.”

“Not if we just sit on the stairs. Please?” Until now, Meg hasn’t realized how much she’s missed fresh air. Why hasn’t she ventured out onto the landing before?

Dean considers for a minute. “Okay. But if someone pulls into the parking lot—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go inside.”

Outside, Dean settles on the top stair, and Meg just savors the air for a second. She’s never taking the smell of greenery for granted again. Or the beauty of a sky swathed in the purple and orange hues of a sunset.

By the time Meg sits down, Dean’s already rolled himself a joint and placed the supplies in the middle. While she rolls her own, Dean lights his. Afterward, he holds the lighter up next to her joint and raises his eyebrows in a question. She nods, and he lights it up.

She sighs with satisfaction after her first puff. God, she’d needed this.

After a minute, Dean says, “So, this guy I saw.”

“I don’t care,” she snips.

“No, listen,” he retorts, leaning back and propping himself up with one hand while he continues. “I wanna see if you know him.”

“Why would I know him?”

“You know how I went to the community center?”

“Mmhmm.” She doubts Dean had shared his plans of his own volition. Cas had probably told him to let her know where he was going after work. That, and Meg would’ve pestered the shit out of him until he admitted his destination.

“So, when I checked out the auditorium, this dude popped out from nowhere. He had these weird yellow eyes.—” Meg freezes with the blunt a few inches from her lips. Dean notices and abruptly changes tack. “What?”

“You said he had yellow eyes?”

“Yeah?”

 _Shit. Oh, shit._ She smiles bitterly. “That’s dear old dad.” _Shit, if he saw Dean—_

Dean’s mouth hangs open. Under other circumstances, it would be funny. “You’re serious?”

“Yep.”

Dean’s face drains of color. “He saw me coming from backstage.”

“Okay.”

“Told me I wasn’t allowed back there.” He narrows his eyes at her. “Do you know why he wouldn’t want me backstage?”

 _And Dean_ talked _to Dad? Dammit. He might have his eyes on Dean now._

_But what’s at the community center?_

“I don’t know.”

“Liar,” Dean spits.

“Excuse me?” She doesn’t need this bullcrap from Dean right now.

“You’re telling me you don’t know there’s a _stash of guns_ backstage underneath the floorboard?”

“Really? Shit.”

Dean snorts. “You expect me to believe you’re surprised.”

“I am.” _Why the hell would they need a bunch of guns?_

“You said you knew everything your dad and his people get up to.”

She frowns. “Not _everything_. But a lot, yes.” But she usually does know about the big stuff. Why hasn’t she heard about any gun shipments?

“Why the fuck would they have so many guns?”

“I don’t know.” Dean stares with disbelief. “I swear. Shit. Maybe they’re branching out into the arm’s trade.”

“There’s something else.”

 _More?_ “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell us you knew the guy who murdered Balthazar Angle?”

“I didn’t.”

“Bullshit.”

Meg stubs out the joint and drops it in the ashtray. “Believe it or not, I’m not lying. I haven’t been dishonest with you or Cas.” _For the most part, anyway._

“Sam said you’d been arrested for prostitution with him.”

“Oh.” Now she remembers. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“You guys were turning tricks together but you didn’t know him.”

“I didn’t. It was only the once. I didn’t usually walk the streets, but Dad wanted to start pimping boys. . . . I was just showing him the ropes. I wasn’t taking customers.”

“But they still arrested you for whoring?” Dean replies skeptically.

She shrugs. “I’m always dressed like a whore.”

After a minute, Dean quietly declares, “No, you’re not.”

“What?”

Dean scans her from head to toe, and she inwardly recoils. “You’re wearing jeans and a T-shirt right now.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “That’s because I don’t have anyone to impress.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” Not that she cares about impressing anyone ever, really, especially Dean Winchester. “It’s how I like to dress.”

Another silent moment, then Dean says, “No, it’s not.” His voice is soft, almost . . . tender?

Yeah, right.

“Don’t tell me what I like and don’t like,” Meg hurls.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Like hell you are.”

Dean drops his blunt into the ashtray. “You like to wear pants.”

“Fuck you.”

Dean grits his teeth. “I’m serious. Cas ordered your clothes, right? And you picked them out?” She nods. “There were no skirts in those boxes. Or dresses.”

“So?”

“So.” He nudges her playfully and winks. “I know your secret.”

She scoffs. “Keep dreaming, pal.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean’s gradually coming around with Meg. She’s kept mum about the weed. Most of the time, she still bugs the shit out of him, but either she’s being honest or she deserves a fucking Oscar. He understands why she wouldn’t tell him about her one encounter with Balthazar Angle’s killer; that’s not the type of thing you brag about. As for the guns . . . He’s not sure what to make of it. But if that dude Dean had bumped into was Azazel Masters—and it had to be: like, how many guys with yellow eyes are there—

No wonder he scares the shit out of Meg. Hell, Dean’s spooked by him, and he’s spent like only one minute with the guy.

And now Meg’s paranoid that Azazel thinks Dean’s up to something, and it’s kinda rubbed off on Dean. Cas had been the voice of reason, arguing that Azazel couldn’t suspect Dean just because of one run-in, that Dean’s excuse for checking out the auditorium had been entirely plausible.

If there’s one thing Dean’s learned from Dad, though, it’s that more people are surveilling you than you think. Dad had worked in Special Ops until Dean was born. That’s when he quit to focus on family. But then Mom had died in a fire under questionable circumstances. Dad had always claimed it had been revenge for something he’d done in his military days. Sam’s always been skeptical of the explanation. After all, Dad had been living a peaceful life as a mechanic with no connection to the military for two years. Dad had become a drunkard after Mom’s death, and Sam had attributed his conspiracy theories to alcoholism.

But Dean had always implicitly believed him. Dad would never say anything about his military days, and Dean didn’t think it was just because that shit was classified, not with that haunted look Dad would get in his eyes.

So when Dad took precautions to keep prying eyes away from them, like making them move every couple years, Dean had known it wasn’t just because Dad was an insane bastard.

Although he was that, too.

All this thinking is giving Dean a headache. He takes a deep breath and tells himself to give his job his full attention.

Lunchtime doesn’t come soon enough. Everyone starts heading to their usual places, but Ash yells for them to stay.

“We’ve got a special treat for you today,” Ash announces. Intrigued, everyone ceases their chatter. “Lilith Heller’s here to tour the site, and she’s catering our lunch today.”

Where are they supposed to eat a catered lunch around here? Not to mention that Dean’s now got chills. Lilith Heller is coming _here_? Why? Had Azazel informed her of his suspicions?

That’s a crazy train of thought. Lilith’s company is paying for this damn building, so why wouldn’t she come check out the site?

It turns out they’re eating lunch in one mostly completed wing of the library, where two tables have been set up. One of them functions as a buffet table.

When Dean reaches the front of the line, he whistles. This is some fancy shit. Lobster tail, shrimp. A freakin’ cheese and olive bar. Tiramisu and cheesecake bites for dessert. He would’ve preferred pie, but he’s not looking a gift lunch in the mouth.

Lilith Heller materializes not long after everyone takes a seat, and she gives some speech about how amazed she is by their progress, the quality of their work, and blah blah blah all the usual bullshit leaders say to try to sound likeable. No matter what she spouts, she still seems like a frigid bitch. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a perfectly coiffed bun, her attempts at emotion obviously fake. The void in her eyes gives her away. Her attire is strictly business, an off-white blazer with a matching skirt and a black blouse. The skirt, though of a modest length, does highlight shapely legs. He imagines she’s got some expensive personal trainer to help with maintaining those toned gams.

After the lunch, she tells Ash she wants a couple of workers to show her around the site. Dean wonders how she’s gonna navigate rocky ground with those heels. Ash offers to act as her guide, but she declines. She insists on getting to know a couple of the workers. She surveys the grunts and chooses Andy and Dean.

A news crew had appeared sometime during lunch. Obviously, they intend to capture the tour on camera, and hell if Dean’s gonna be part of some bullshit PR campaign.

“Nuh, uh. Not me,” Dean objects.

Lilith raises an immaculately sculpted eyebrow. “Why not?”

“C’mon, it might be fun,” Andy adds oh so helpfully.

“Just pick somebody else.” He should probably be polite to her. “Please.”

“Maybe he’s camera shy,” Ash theorizes. “You can find another one. They’re all excellent workers.”

Lilith slithers toward Dean, and he instantly recoils. She cups his chin with one hand and turns it toward the cameraman. “But he’s _perfect_. So photogenic.”

She manhandles him like he’s a fucking mannequin. And of course she chose him for his appearance. Echoes of _pretty boy_ play in his memory, how in all the schools he’d been to, the guys had teased him for it and all his girlfriends (and much later, boyfriends) had only ever dated him for his looks. Yeah, Dean knows he’s hot, and he appreciates it, but he’s more than a pretty face. Even several months into a relationship, it was like the other person never actually saw him for who he really was.

That’s one reason he loves Cas so much. Cas knows him down to the very core. He loves Dean for himself, not just the skinsuit he’s wrapped in. Sometimes Dean still can’t comprehend how he got so lucky.

Dean restrains the urge to slap her hand away. Being on TV with Lilith feels like a bad idea, and not just because he doesn’t want to be a pawn to prop up her image. What if Azazel sees him and that makes him more suspicious of Dean? He’s not sure how exactly that would work, but it seems possible.

Ash has given him the perfect out. He can feign camera shyness.

“Please don’t make me,” Dean replies softly, hoping he’s infused his voice with a convincing amount of fear.

Pale blue eyes bore into his, and it feels like a challenge. He tries not to blink, to convey sincerity with his own gaze.

“Very well,” Lilith concedes.

At home, Dean informs Cas and Meg about what happened.

“You idiot!” Meg fumes. Cas flinches at her tone, but Dean just rolls his eyes. Meg’s always got something to gripe about.

“What?” Dean responds.

“That probably made her _more_ suspicious.”

“How’s that?”

“Imagine if she tells Dad about you and he puts two and two together.”

Shit. She’s got a point.

“Surely he would view it as a coincidence,” Cas replies.

Meg smiles acidly. “We don’t believe in coincidence, Clarence.”

“We?” Dean repeats.

Meg looks sheepish for once. “They. My old man and his cronies.”

Why would she say _we_? And _Clarence_. She’s taken to sometimes addressing Cas with that name, and it bothers Dean. He can’t think why. She says it flippantly, but there’s also something vaguely flirtatious in it that eats at him—

Which is preposterous.

“It does no good to worry,” Cas concludes. “We can’t change anything.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

Unable to stay focused on his work, Castiel heads home at four. He can’t get Meg’s and Dean’s anxiety out of his mind. He could normally ignore Dean on that score, for he does have a tendency to blow things out of proportion. But Meg is familiar with the modus operandi of her father and his ilk. If she says her dad might be suspicious, he believes her.

Of course, he has allowed Meg and Dean to believe the opposite. Someone has to be the voice of calm. If they all gave in to panic, further missteps would follow. They need to maintain control to prevent any future mishaps and stay focused on their goals.

“You’re home early,” Meg comments when he slides through the front door.

“I couldn’t concentrate on my work,” Castiel explains before putting away his briefcase and overcoat.

But Meg isn’t paying attention to him. He follows her gaze to the TV. The news is playing a story about a high school teacher accused of child abuse. His thirteen-year-old daughter had branded her left arm and claimed her father had inflicted the burn.

Burn. _Burn_. _Please Mother not again._

During the investigation, the girl’s story had unraveled.

She’d been temporarily housed with the foster care system, and now she was being returned to her parents.

“That’s such bullshit!” Meg seethes. Her hands clench into fists, and Castiel fears she will smash something. How can he calm her down?

“If her father did nothing wrong—” Castiel begins.

Meg snorts. “Of course he did. A man burns his own fucking daughter and—”

“She did it to herself.” But Castiel isn’t so sure.

“Yeah, right. Even if she did, her dad’s obviously a monster. He did something to make her feel like she had to do that—”

“Not necessarily.” Not all children’s mental issues stem from abusive parenting. Even though he knows that’s the case, he actually agrees with Meg’s assessment, but her anger needs taming.

“Like you would know!” Meg shouts. “Of course you’d side with the parents, you’re a fucking goody two-shoes. Your parents probably told you how special you were every day—”

“They didn’t—”

“You’ll never understand! Your parents didn’t put you through a bunch of shit!—”

Wrath obliterates all other concerns, taking control. “Don’t you _dare_ assume you know _anything_ about me and my fucking parents,” he snarls. Meg suddenly goes quiet and gawks at him.

“You think I don’t know anything about shitty parents?! You think my parents were the nurturing kind?!” He takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t calm him. “They weren’t. I was a failure to them, a disappointment. They told me every single day, and they didn’t mince words. Spare the rod and spoil the child was their motto. And how they _loved_ that rod. As for _burns_ —” Castiel tears off his shirt. He gestures to a small mark directly below each armpit. “There. Always the same spot so they’d look like birthmarks.” He barks a mirthless laugh. “Smart fuckers. Dean thought they were birthmarks until I told him the truth.” He’d hoped his parents had been wrong, that the burns would be red flags to anyone who’d see them. But no one had raised an eye in gym class, and the one person he’d slept with—Dean would still believe they were birthmarks if Castiel hadn’t rambled about his childhood after waking up from one of his nightmares.

Meg approaches him and examines the burns. “Oh, Clarence,” she sighs, her index finger tracing the burn on his left side. For once, her tone contains no hint of sarcasm.

Castiel experiences a strange sensation. Almost like—a frisson of desire? Whatever it is, it’s something he’s only ever felt with Dean.

Spooked, he pulls back from her touch. Meg blinks at the motion then blushes.

“I’m sorry,” she professes, eyes shining. Is she apologizing for the touch? For her outburst? For his childhood?

Suddenly self-conscious, he snatches the shirt from the couch’s armrest and yanks it back on. He turns around to avoid Meg’s gaze. “I need to change. I’m going for a run.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sexual scenes, homophobic remarks, alcoholism, self-destructive behavior, suicidal ideation, drunk driving, death, and brief gruesome imagery. (I hope I didn't leave anything off. If so, I apologize. Please let me know, and I'll add the appropriate warning.)
> 
> This'll be the last chapter before the new year, and probably for a good bit of time in general. I'll temporarily put this fic on hold while I work on a fic for the SPN Reverse Bang, but I'll be back to this one as soon as a I can! 
> 
> As always, I'd love comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks! 
> 
> Finally, hope you all have a wonderful holiday!

The night of the town hall meeting, Sam and Jess come over. Despite Meg’s misgivings, the men insisted on going. Alastair would wonder why they were asking him about the contracts, and he might order someone to look into the men’s lives. And just like that, they’d discover Meg even if she stayed all damn day in the house. Their questions, in addition to Dad’s and Lilith’s encounters with Dean, would tell them something was up, and they wouldn’t have any qualms about eliminating Cas, Dean, Sam, and even Jess. Cas and Sam refused to believe that was a possibility, however. Even knowing what’d happened to Balthazar Angle, they didn’t think Alastair could act against them, _all four of them_ , Sam had emphasized, without raising red flags.

Only Dean had second thoughts. Of course. He’d had the most reservations about getting involved with Meg in the first place.

She should’ve never asked Dean and Cas to involve themselves.

But Cas had dragged her here against her protests, hadn’t he? None of this is her fault.

She still can’t help feeling guilty, though. Even if it’s stupid. Because why should she even care, anyway? Not like the Winchesters are anything to her.

But the idea of something happening to Cas, to Sam and Jess, hell, even Dean, frightens her.

Meg ruminates about the possibilities as the men leave. Jess decides to stay.

“I thought we could have a girls’ night in,” Jess announces as she sinks into the sofa. “What do you think about ordering a pizza?”

Meg snorts. “Thanks, but no thanks. Why’re you even here?”

Jess frowns. “I thought you might like a change. Someone to talk to other than Dean and Cas.”

Yes, that does sound nice, but—“I’m not your damn charity case.”

“I never said you were.”

“C’mon, you’ve gotta have something better to do.”

“But I wanna spend time with you.”

“Yeah, right,” Meg scoffs.

“Is that really so surprising?”

“No one just wants to spend time with me.” _Fuck me, perhaps. Ask for a favor, sure._

“I do.”

Meg shrugs. If Jess wants to waste her night here, that’s fine by Meg. “Whatever. What kind of pizza are you ordering?”

“What would you like?”

“Pepperoni?”

Jess smiles. “You read my mind.”

After Jess calls in the order, they browse Netflix. Jess wants to watch something fun, like a chick flick. Meg ridicules the idea (she’s so not a chick flick person) but eventually gives in. It’s not really like she cares what they do anyway; she’s just indulging Jess.

By the time the pizza arrives, they’ve settled on _10 Things I Hate About You_. It seems like one of the more painless choices. Meg remembers catching it on TV once a long time ago and thinking it wasn’t so bad.

She and Jess wind up devouring the pizza between them. She actually enjoys the movie, too. (Not that she’d ever admit it.)

Once the film is over, Jess pulls a small kit from her purse and says she’s going to paint her nails. She tells Meg that she doesn’t care what they watch next. Meg puts on _30 Rock_ , but neither of them pays any attention to it. Meg decides she’d actually like to paint her nails, too, when Jess offers to share.

As she begins coating her nails with black polish, Meg contemplates what she’s learned about Cas. His outburst last night had shocked her, to say the least. She’s never seen him so angry, not even during his fight with Dean. And what he’d revealed about his childhood . . . Meg never would’ve guessed. Cas exudes kindness, projects naiveté, as if he’s never experienced the darker side of human nature. She’d assumed he’d had a sheltered life.

But he has seen, firsthand, how terrible people can be. Yet he tends to believe the best of them. How does he do it?

And what’s the deal with his parents?

“How much do you know about Cas’s parents?” Meg asks.

“Not much,” Jess answers. “I think they were strict. Hardcore evangelical Christians. Wanted him to go into the military. I think he actually did join up but never reported for duty. Or something like that.”

Cas in the armed forces? She can’t imagine it.

“Why?” Jess continues.

Meg shrugs. “Just curious.”

“I think Dean knows a lot more, but he’s private about it.”

Like she’s going to ask Dean about Cas’s childhood. He’d probably rip her head off, and with good reason. He’s protective of Cas, and Meg respects that.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The town hall meeting takes place in City Hall. When he, Sam, and Cas enter the meeting room, Dean does a double take. Hardly anyone’s inside. The mayor, chatting with an aide, stands at the front by a wooden lectern. A few elderly individuals are seated in the first two rows of black fold-out chairs.

“Those people go to, like, every city council meeting,” Sam informs Dean when he notices his brother eyeing the other attendees.

“Uh huh. And you do, too?” Dean replies. Sam’s never mentioned visiting city council sessions.

“No, but I’ve gotta keep up with government business, y’know? They broadcast the meetings on local public access television.”

“What?” Dean hadn’t known local public access television was a thing.

 “The channel that shows the local news on repeat?” Cas cuts in.

“Yeah,” Sam confirms. “They sometimes show local government proceedings.”

Unease settles in Dean’s chest as they seat themselves in the third row. Meg had probably been right. Their questions would make Alastair and his associates suspicious. As long as Meg stays in the apartment, they should be okay. They’ve been conducting their lives as usual, after all. Still, they don’t need a spotlight on them.

Dean wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and glances behind himself.

Now he feels even more like throwing up.

In the last row sits Cassie Robinson, reporter for the local paper. She’s still pretty, her skin smooth. She’s jotting something down on a notepad, and Dean turns back to the front before she can spot him.

Cassie had been his first love. They’d been together for only a month, most of the time spent fucking, but _damn_ , it’d been great sex. And she was smart, too, a bit funny . . . Dean had been smitten.

Ten years ago. Sam had just left for college at Stanford, and he’d given Dean an ultimatum.—Cut all ties with Dad, or he’d never talk to Dean again.

Dad had been alone and helpless, with his drinking problem and increasing paranoia, and Dean couldn’t just abandon him.

So Sam left, and the prospect of never talking to him again had gutted Dean.

He went on a bender that lasted for several days. He doesn’t remember how many. Just that he’d gotten into at least one bar fight and woken up at one point in an alley covered in something that smelled strongly of vodka. When the police had finally caught up with him, deep cuts had lined his arms. A sizable shard of glass had still been embedded in his left wrist. They said he’d ransacked a convenience store, tossing items all over the place while the cashier looked on in fear. He didn’t remember that. Still doesn’t.

Needless to say, he’d lost his night-shift job at the FedEx warehouse.

Next time he saw Cassie, she told him it was over.

_“Wow. I’ve heard your reputation, but it doesn’t do you justice. You’re ten times worse.”_

_“Fuck you,” Dean had tried to shout. It’d come out as a croak._

Then he returned to his hole-in-the-wall apartment and drank for another three days or so.

He’d thought he could never love again, yet he has Cas now. Cas, who he loves more deeply than he could’ve ever loved Cassie, no matter how wonderful she is.

Cas, who he doesn’t deserve.

“Dean?” Cas cuts into his thoughts. “What is it?”

Trust Cas to see right through him. Dean nods at Cassie behind them. “I know her.”

Cas turns around to look and frowns. “The reporter?”

“Yeah. God, don’t stare, Cas.” He maneuvers Cas’s chin until they’re facing each other. “That’s Cassie.”

“Cassie who –.”

“Yeah.” Cas gets it. Dean doesn’t need to hear him finish the thought.

Cas squeezes his hand and interlaces their fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“It just reminds me of a lotta stuff I’d like to forget, y’know?” Cas nods.

As if Cassie’s presence isn’t enough, Lilith Heller has joined Alastair at the front. Even though she’s wearing a black pantsuit this time, with her blonde hair down, she still looks softer than she had at the construction site.

“Shit,” Dean murmurs. “That’s Lilith.”

Cas’s gaze darts toward the front. “Oh.”

“What the hell is she doing here?” Dean worries.

“She’s probably going to give an update about some projects,” Sam theorizes.

A low-level city employee inaugurates the meeting. Lilith discusses Heller Enterprises’s upcoming renovation of a small venue downtown, the Municipal Auditorium. The plan is to use it to attract bands for small shows once the building is up to snuff. Heller Center, meant to house major events, is about halfway finished and should open on schedule. Damn if Dean doesn’t want to just barf knowing there’ll be a large arena named after that bitch. She answers questions about her company’s projects before turning the program over to the mayor.

Dean hasn’t paid much attention to him before. He studies Alastair Badham’s lanky build, notes the slightly cruel twist to his mouth. Or is he imagining that? After all, he knows how despicable Alastair really is, and it probably colors his perception of the guy. He remembers that story Meg had told the first morning she’d spent with them. It floats through his mind now, an image of that man sneering, holding a knife to Meg’s throat, and drawing blood. Destroying her lips with that knife. Meg’s wounds have mostly faded away, but he still recalls how beat up she’d looked.

The mayor is a sadistic son of a bitch. It may not be obvious on the surface, but there’re his little tells, like that muted vicious fire in his eyes—which, holy crap, just met his—

Dean can’t look away fast enough.

God, did some dumb old woman just complain about how there aren’t enough senior activities at the new community center?—He’s seen that schedule. There’re at least five damn things a day . . .

“This question is on behalf of the paper,” Cassie states. Dean jerks back to attention at the sound of her voice. “What did the police discover in Crossroads? I hear the raid uncovered an extensive drug ring.”

“Those reports have been exaggerated,” Alastair replies. “We just found some small time dealing going on. We also learned the location of one meth lab.”

“What about allegations that Crowley was masterminding a human trafficking ring?” Wow. Dean hasn’t heard that one, but now that he thinks about it, the way he coerces women into working for him, it’s not much different.

Alastair bristles at the question. “Completely unfounded.”

“Really? I have a source who says otherwise.” Huh. Dean wonders who that source is. Or maybe Cassie’s just bluffing. She’s clever like that.

“Who?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Whatever they told you, it’s hogwash.” His eyes roam over the audience. “Next question?”

Sam jumps in. “Mr. Mayor, sir, I’ve been reading over the city’s records for municipal constructions and renovations. I’ve noticed that the contract didn’t always go to the lowest bidder. Why is that?”

Alastair’s attention whips to Sammy. “We chose the companies that were best for the job, not just whoever gave the lowest quote.”

“But, sir, some of those companies with smaller bids, they have _nationally_ impeccable reputations.”

“Heller Enterprises is well-known statewide,” Alastair counters. “Not only that, but hiring them keeps jobs local.” Some of the senior citizens nod in approval.

“But jobs would still be local if national firms had won some contracts,” Sam points out. “They’d have to hire local labor to work construction.”

“But choosing Heller Enterprises keeps the money in our local economy.”

“Sir, some of the companies that got contracts over the national ones . . . no one’s ever heard of them. Like the Brady Corporation. How can you explain that?”

Lilith and Alastair exchange meaningful looks. Someone’s finally caught them at their game, and he can see the wheels turning in their heads. Most of the audience seems curious now.

Alastair answers, “I and other members of the committee met their CEOs. They impressed us. Everyone deserves a chance, don’t they?” The other attendees seem satisfied by the answer.

“Ah,” Sam responds. “Yes, I see your point.” He, Cas, and Sam glance at each other. He knows they all agree—Alastair’s excuse is weak.

Dean tunes out the rest of the meeting. When it’s over, he shuffles from his chair into the aisle and finds himself face to face with Lilith. “Dean, isn’t it?” she says, her expression cool.

Dean tries to keep it together. So what if she remembers his name? They’d met only a few days ago. “Yeah.”

“I was surprised to see you here. You don’t seem like the type to be engaged with city government.” She scans him with assessing eyes, and Dean inwardly shivers.

“What, just because I’m a construction worker?” Dean retorts. Even if it would be an offensive assumption, Dean hopes that’s all it is, not a veiled threat.

“I apologize. I did not mean to impugn your intelligence. I just haven’t seen you at any city council or town hall meetings before.”

“Uh huh. Just thought I’d check things out.”

“I see.”

Lilith leaves, and he breathes a sigh of relief. The feeling is short-lived, however. Cassie, of all people, approaches him next. They haven’t talked since she’d dumped his ass.

“Is all of that true?” Cassie asks him.

“What?”

“The stuff about the city contracts.”

“Yeah. According to Sammy.” He doesn’t know why he inserts that last part.

“How did you--?”

Suddenly, Dean can’t take it anymore. He can’t face Cassie like this, what with their history, and how she’s acting like it doesn’t exist, and fucking _Lilith_ —

He bolts.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel can’t believe Cassie Robinson had the nerve to walk up to Dean, considering their history. She sounds so normal, too, as if talking to a stranger, but the casual way she’d begun the conversation—“Is all of that true?”—assumes an intimacy that is, frankly, offensive. He realizes that Dean’s behavior at the time hadn’t been admirable, but ten years changes people a good deal, and if she harbors any belief that she actually _knows_ him—it rankles.

He understands why Dean flees. He follows, leaving Sam to grapple with Cassie’s questions.

Outside, he joins Dean in the Impala. “Are you all right?” he asks.

Dean nods but stares at the steering wheel rather than looking at Castiel. He places a hand on Dean’s knee and massages it. “You did well, Dean.”

Dean laughs humorlessly. “What the fuck are you talking about? I just ran away from her, like a coward.”

“But you kept your emotions—and I know you had them—in check.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs.

“And Lilith Heller—she recognized you, and I’m not sure what she was trying to communicate to us—or if I’m being paranoid—but she seemed suspicious. You handled that well.”

Dean finally meets his gaze. “So you noticed that, too?”

“Mmhmm. Your answer was completely plausible.” His hand migrates up to Dean’s thigh. It’s solid underneath his hand, warm. Love, fierce and bright, blossoms in his chest, and he wants—no, _needs_ —Dean to know how much he loves him, how precious he is—

He leans forward and with his teeth gently tugs on Dean’s earlobe. He feels Dean gradually relax, and he licks the flap of skin over the opening—

The door to the backseat slams. “Ugh. Not this again!” Sam exclaims.

Dean chuckles as he pulls away from Castiel. “Enjoy your chat with Cassie?”

“Meg said Alastair probably has the paper in his pocket, but I’m not sure. If he does, Cassie didn’t get the memo.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel inquires.

“It seemed like she actually wanted to look into the records.”

“Or maybe she’s just gauging how much you—we—know,” Dean throws out.

“Guess that’s possible. Only time will tell.”

When they arrive home, Dean takes one look at the TV and blurts, “Are you watching _Roman Holiday_?” He gives Jess and Meg a disdainful look.

“How do you know it’s _Roman Holiday_?” Meg retorts. “One of your favorite movies, I’m assuming?” Sam and Jess snicker, and Dean reddens. He sinks down in the armchair and says nothing. Sam pulls two kitchen table chairs into the living room for him and Cas. Jess turns off the TV.

“So? What did you find?” Jess ventures.

Dean chews his lip, uncertain eyes casting about until settling on Meg. “I think you were right. This was a bad idea.”

“Not if it got the paper interested,” Sam opines.

“What?” Meg says.

“A reporter was interested in my questions about the contracts.”

Dean suddenly finds something fascinating on the carpet. “Just what I needed,” he mutters. “Running into my damn ex.”

“You have an ex who works for the paper?” Jess asks.

“Cassie Robinson.” Castiel can tell Dean is retreating into himself, wallowing in shame about what’d transpired with Cassie. Castiel just wants to show him how wonderful, how deserving, he is, but he can’t. Not yet, with company.

“Lilith Heller was there,” Castiel puts in.

“Yeah?” Meg says.

“Yes. She recognized Dean.”

“I think she thinks I’m up to something, but maybe I’m being paranoid,” Dean elaborates.

“She’s suspicious,” Meg responds. “I’d bet my money on it.”

“What, just because she recognized Dean?” Sam objects. “They met only a few days ago.”

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me, Sammy,” Dean argues.

“I did,” Castiel asserts. “I believe Dean could be right.”

“Finally,” Meg sighs. “You’ve got to take this shit seriously. Any slip-up, and they’ll notice.”

“How did the mayor justify the contracts?” Jess inquires.

“Said he was giving new talent a chance and boosting the local economy,” Sam replies.

“That explanation will probably satisfy most people,” Jess observes.

“Yeah.” Sam yawns. “It’s getting late. Can we talk about our next move some other time?”

“Of course,” Castiel answers.

After Sam and Jess leave, Castiel follows Dean to the bedroom. He watches Dean’s back muscles ripple as he flings first the red plaid shirt then the white undershirt toward the hamper. It is an arousing sight. Dean reaches for his belt buckle and pauses. “I can feel you starin’,” Dean declares with amusement.

“Just enjoying the view,” Castiel explains.

Dean turns his head so he can look at Cas. “Like what you see?” His smile is coy, but Castiel reads the insecurity beneath the façade.

He licks his lips. “Very much.” He stalks toward Dean and stops right behind him. He grasps Dean’s shoulders and spins him around. “I can help you with that,” Castiel rumbles. He grabs the belt buckle while keeping his eyes on Dean. The belt slithers to the floor, and Castiel unbuttons Dean’s jeans. He reaches inside, insinuates a hand into the boxers, wraps it around Dean’s cock, and squeezes. Dean groans as Castiel interchanges between brushes with his fingertips and forceful tugs. “You like that?” Castiel rasps.

“Fuck, yeah,” Dean sighs. Castiel stills his fingers and withdraws his hand. “You fuckin’ tease.”

“Just a preview.” He presses his lips to Dean’s. Their kiss grows deeper, Castiel curving one hand around Dean’s cheek while pushing Dean’s pants down with the other. Dean steps out of them and shoves Castiel onto the bed. After he discards his boxers, he straddles Castiel’s thighs and grinds down on his pelvis. The friction is delicious. “Dean . . . ” Dean abruptly stands up, and Castiel scowls. “What was that?”

“Just a preview,” Dean echoes, smirking. “Gotta get your clothes off first, hon.”

“Oh. Yes.” Nothing feels more divine than his bare skin against Dean’s. He sits up and undoes the first button of his shirt. Dean swats his hand away.

“Allow me,” Dean says. He slowly unbuttons Castiel’s shirt, massaging Castiel’s stomach and chest as he hurls the shirt away.  He bites down and sucks on a nipple. Castiel squirms. His lips trail down to the waistband of Castiel’s pants. He bites down on the skin just below Castiel’s belly button. Blood rushes to Castiel’s dick. Who knew he could be so sensitive there? Dean unbuttons Castiel’s pants with his fucking _teeth_ , and how can that not be a turn on? He lifts his legs up to allow Dean to draw off first his pants then his boxers. Dean licks the tip of his penis, grips Castiel’s thighs, nails digging in, and fuck, this is taking too long—

Castiel flips them over. He rubs his dick against Dean’s, and precome bubbles up in both appendages. He pins Dean’s hands above his head with a tight grip on each wrist, and Dean’s pupils dilate. He’s always enjoyed a little manhandling.

“I want you,” Castiel snarls.

Dean nods eagerly. “Yeah. Anything, Cas. Fucking take it.”

He skims his lips over Dean’s, whispers, “I love you.”

“For what it’s worth,” Dean mumbles.

Castiel sits up, and Dean whines at the sudden loss of friction. “What is that supposed to mean?” he demands. Is he questioning Castiel’s devotion? The thought hurts. He remembers that odd moment with Meg—why had he thought taking off his shirt was a good idea?—and is flooded by guilt.

“I ain’t worth shit.”

Ah. The run-in with Cassie is still weighing on him. “Dean, you are worth so much.”

Dean snorts. “How can you say that after all the shit I’ve done?”

“Because of this.” Castiel traces over Dean’s heart with an index finger. “It’s beautiful.” He laves over the spot with his tongue, and Dean arches up. Castiel’s lips slide up Dean’s neck, nipping just below the ear before continuing up to the lips. “I will show you . . . how much . . . ,” Castiel babbles. He’ll speak Dean’s language. Action. And Dean likes, and he needs, Castiel to take control. To fuck him, use him, and put him back together. To demonstrate how much he’s worth.

He kneels between Dean’s legs and reaches over to the nightstand, retrieving the lube. He slathers his fingers with the liquid and explains, “I’m starting with one finger.”

“Not enough,” Dean grumbles.

Castiel tsks. “You can’t have it all at once.” He inserts the first finger into Dean’s ass, and Dean wriggles underneath him. He shoves back onto Castiel’s fingers, pace frantic. “It’s so empty,” Dean mourns.

“Patience. You’ll be full when you’re ready.” Castiel smirks at the words. But lewd as they are, that’s not all he means—Dean will be whole in more ways than one.

He adds a second finger, then a third and fourth, his pace deliberate. Castiel clamps a hand around Dean’s dick, working it how he knows Dean likes. Dean writhes beneath him, already almost ready to come. Oh, no. That won’t do at all. Castiel caps the slit with one finger.

“You’re killin’ me here, Cas,” Dean complains.

And the double meaning there— _la petite mort_ —Castiel is rock hard, so much so he’s afraid he himself may come to soon. He needs to make his move. _Now_.

Castiel keeps the finger over Dean’s slit and lines himself up. Dean’s ready. He knows what’s next, but he doesn’t want a warning—he _wants_ —Castiel shoves inside. “Holy shit,” Dean gasps.

“Agreed.” Castiel gives himself over to abandon immediately, fully seating himself, retracting everything but the tip, then slamming into Dean again and again.—Rough, fast. Castiel loses himself in carnality, raw and primal. He can hear himself screaming, but the sound barely registers.

“Fuck, Cas.” It’s like the words are pounded out of him.

Castiel removes his finger from Dean’s penis and crashes their lips together. His tongue seeks out Dean’s, and when they melt, and he thrusts even harder somehow—

They’re both coming, Castiel spilling into Dean, Dean’s spunk covering his hand.

It leaves them breathless. Castiel snatches a random piece of clothing from the floor, cleans them up, and flings tosses it somewhere.

“Damn, babe,” Dean laughs, a tad delirious. “That was . . . ”

“Mmmhmm.” Castiel pets Dean’s hair, peppers his neck and cheek with kisses. He scoops Dean into his arms, cradles him. “I love you, Dean,” he intones.

“Yeah, Cas. Love you, too.”

Castiel nestles his cheek against Dean’s, and sleeps.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Cas. You saved me._

As Dean drifts off, he recalls that night they’d met, a little over three years ago . . .

_Dad had just been buried last week, and after that, Sam had returned to California. Just as he’d done for the last several nights, Dean was whiling away the time at a bar_. _He’d had several shots—he didn’t know how many—and was nursing a beer by the time he spotted the brown-haired man seated on the opposite side of the bar. Dude had these intense blue eyes, and an image flashed through Dean’s mind, himself kneeling on the filthy bathroom floor—where he deserved to be—blowing the man’s fucking brains out, the blue eyes acting as magnets so Dean couldn’t look away from the guy’s face._

_Too busy with his beer and burger, the man didn’t notice him until Dean settled on the stool next to him. Puzzled, he turned to Dean. “Hello?”_

_“Hey,” Dean replied huskily. His eyes darted to the man’s lips. “Lookin’ for some hot stuff?”_

_“Pardon?”_

_Dean chuckled, accidentally lurching forward a little too much when he reached out to trace the man’s top lip with a thumb. “I know I am.” The man gawked, but he didn’t back away, so Dean took it as a good sign. He leaned forward to whisper in the guy’s ear. “Meet me in the bathroom in five?”_

_The man frowned. “Are you propositioning me?”_

_Dean’s thumb moved to the dude’s cheekbone. God, how could a man be so adorably clueless and sexy at the same time? “Yeah, genius.” He leered at the guy._

_The man jerked backward, and Dean stumbled, catching himself before he could completely fall off the stool. “No, thank you,” the man responded, his manner suddenly cold._

_“You don’t have to be such an asshole about it,” Dean sniped. Guy coulda stopped him before he’d gotten that far._

_Whatever. No sweat. Dean returned to the other side of the bar. Had a couple more beers, some shots. Finally found a dude to meet in the bathroom. He fucked Dean flat against the dirty checkered tiles. He left Dean face-down on the floor after they’d come, not even bothering to clean up. Dean didn’t care. The cum stayed on the floor, in his ass, as he pulled his jeans back up. His vision was hazy when he glanced at himself in the mirror, but all the same, he saw how much the man had marked up his neck._

_Gotta bang a few gongs before you go, yeah?_

_Just a little drive, and he wouldn’t have to worry anymore. Ever._

_He staggered out of the bar toward the Impala. He fumbled with the keys, and they fell to the ground. Suddenly, Blue Eyes from the bar was there, and he snatched them away before Dean could pick them up. “Hey, what gives?” Dean complained._

_“You’re drunk,” the man replied._

_Dean chortled. “No shit, Sherlock.” He reached for the keys, but Blue Eyes tucked them into his pocket. Now Dean was royally pissed. He couldn’t let Blue Eyes steal his baby. “Dude, give ’em back.” He’d meant to sound commanding, but the words came out in a low slur._

_“You cannot drive in this condition. You’ll kill yourself.”_

_Dean guffawed. “That’s the fuckin’ point!” Blue Eyes’s expression grew somber, and Dean snapped, “I don’t need your fucking pity!”_

_“No.” The man pushed past Dean, unlocked the driver’s side, and crawled in. “Get in the car.”_

_“You’re in the way.”_

_“The other side.”_

_For some reason, he felt compelled to obey. He somehow made it to the passenger side before collapsing. The man pulled onto the road, and Dean didn’t know where he was taking him. Nor did he care. He hadn’t planned on being here tomorrow, so he had no problem seeing where this would lead._

_They wound up at a nondescript apartment complex. Dean had trouble with his legs, so he leaned on Blue Eyes as he led the way. Inside, Blue Eyes eased Dean onto a bed, and Dean promptly threw up on him for his trouble._

_“Sorry,” Dean muttered, giggling._

_The man glanced at the vomit on his shoulder but didn’t comment on it. “Get some rest.”_

_. . . When Dean woke up, the man was sitting on a chair by the bed. “Where the fuck am I?”_

_“My apartment,” Blue Eyes answered._

_“Did we fuck last night?”_

_“No.”_

_Oh. Dean realized the bathroom encounter he recalled had been a completely different person. Then everything from last night tumbled into his memory. He abruptly sat up, and his stomach regretted it. “I’ve gotta go.” He’d already wasted enough of this guy’s time._

_The man handed him a glass of water. “Drink this.”_

_Dean guzzled the water then placed one foot on the floor. “Thanks. Bye.”_

_“Stay.” The man actually_ growled _. Dean felt like a schoolboy. He froze, and Blue Eyes continued, “Last night. You were having suicidal ideation.”_

_“Uh huh.”_

_“I cannot allow you to leave until I know you will not harm yourself.”_

_“What is this, a mental hospital?” Dean quipped. The man’s expression was stony. Dude couldn’t take a joke._

_Blue Eyes ran a hand through Dean’s hair, and it soothed him. No one had ever touched him so gently before. Like he mattered. No one but Mom. His eyelids drooped closed. “Sleep. I will take care of you.”_

_And sleep he did. But this time was worse than the earlier blackout slumber. He relived the moment he’d last seen Dad alive._

+++++++

_Dean hadn’t been to visit Dad for a few days. Dad had been sober for two months, but when Dean walked into his house, it was clear he’d fallen off the wagon. Liquor bottles littered the dining room table. He inched into the living room, dreading what he’d see._

_“Dean-o!” Dad exclaimed from where he was laid out on the couch. Bottles of alcohol lay on the floor beside him. He raised the almost empty whiskey bottle in his hand and proffered it to Dean. “Join me.”_

_Dean swept the bottles away and knelt on the floor by the sofa. “Dad? What happened?” he asked softly. What could’ve made him succumb so drastically?_

_The corner of Dad’s mouth lifted into a grotesque smile. “Sometimes a guy just gets bored.”_

_“What?” Dean couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He’d insisted to Sam that Dad wasn’t a lost cause, that he could overcome his addiction, he just needed help. Sam’d told him that no one could help Dad if he didn’t want to help himself, and Dean had chewed him out. Everything had been going so well. Dad had been sober, holding down a steady job at the auto plant. He’d been happy, too, showing a side of himself Dean had seen only before Mom died. Cheerful, encouraging, not badgering Dean for his failures as he tended to do, when he wasn’t scolding him or drinking—_

_And now this_. _Just because he was_ bored _?_

_Tears leaked from Dean’s eyes. He didn’t know what else to do._

_“Why’re you cryin’ like a bitch?” Dad snarled._

_Dean knew Dad got mean when he was drunk, that he might not mean it.—But what if Dad was actually showing his true colors?_

_“Dad . . . ”_

_“It’s probably ’cause you’re a faggot, isn’t it?”_

_“What?” Dean gasped. Of all things Dad had berated him for, sexuality had never been one of them._

_Dad sneered down at him. “You can’t ever do anything right, can you? Can’t even be a real man. At least Sam has done something with his life.”_

_“Sam . . .” Here Dad was, holding Sam up as a paragon, when Sam hadn’t spoken to him in years_. _After all Dean had done for him, it was only Sam that mattered. Always had been, and Dean would never actually think otherwise, it’s just, he would’ve liked a little appreciation or something at least—_

_Dean stood up. “Fuck you,” he intoned. He kicked a bottle at the wall. “Kill yourself with this shit. See if I care.”_

_Dean got the hell out of there._

_And the next night, his blood full of alcohol, Dad had smashed into a pole. Died in the hospital._

_And Dean had told_ _him to do it. Fuck._

+++++++

_“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” someone cooed to him. Stroking a hand through his hair, smoothing it down his cheek, rubbing his shoulder. A warm embrace enveloped him._

_Ah. Blue Eyes._

_Dean babbled the whole thing to him, a fucking stranger._

_“Shh, Shh,” he murmured. “It’s okay, Dean. It’ll be okay.”_

_Dean abruptly pulled back. “How do you know my name?”_

_Blue Eyes blinked. “You told me.”_

_“Oh.” He noticed he was wearing sweatpants. Not his. And the dried cum was gone from his ass. Blue Eyes had cleaned him up, then, and if that wasn’t embarrassing, he didn’t know what was._

_He ate cereal in the kitchen with Blue Eyes. When Dean was about to leave, the guy proposed, “Let’s have coffee tomorrow.”_

_“Seriously?” Dean responded. Why on earth would the guy want to see him again? He was a fucking mess._

_“Yes.”_

_“Dude, I don’t even know your name.”_

_“It’s Castiel.”_

_“What kinda name is that?”_

_Castiel glowered at him before conceding, “Some people call me Cas.”_

_“Okay, Cas. Yeah, sure.”_

_After hanging out with Cas for a few weeks, Dean knew the guy was special. The more he learned about Cas, the more he fell. Cas even helped him establish a closer relationship with Sam when his brother moved back here for his job at the DA’s office. When he finally got a glimpse of Cas’s scars, helped him deal, he was in too deep to ever come back._

_And he never regretted it._

xxxxxxxxxx

When Meg hears Dean and Cas fucking, she’s not surprised. Cas had been giving Dean bedroom eyes all evening. The obscene moans and groans ignite her imagination . . .

 The men’s sweaty bodies mingling together, muscles rippling.

A tentative finger dips underneath her waistband, into her panties. It’s been a while since she’s gotten off. She only ever comes when she masturbates, though of course she’s a pro at faking it.

She rubs at her clitoris with a nail. As she pushes her finger in deeper, stroking the nub more rapidly, blood rushes to her vagina. What would it be like if Cas were fucking her? No harm in fantasizing . . .

Well, for one, he’s not the type to fuck; he’d “make love.” Though what she hears on the other side of the wall sure does sound like hardcore fucking. But for him, no matter how rough, sex would be an act of love.

Rather than ripping her clothes off right away, or merely just hiking up a skirt and sticking it in, he’d take his time stripping her. He’d run reverent hands over her skin, up her thighs, squeezing. Licking into her with his tongue, taking his time, expertly working her toward greater arousal. Pinching her nipples, squeezing one breast then the other in turn, biting a nipple, sucking it into his mouth. She’d arch into it, her stomach rising up into Cas’s hand. She would take a minute to savor the sight of his naked body, that toned stomach, those deliciously meaty thighs. He’d bracket her at the waist; she’d caress each thigh, tracing the skin upward until she reaches his cock. She’d work him with a hand; precome would ooze out. His penis would fill with blood, and she’d grow even wetter—

He’d take the plunge. She’d sigh with satisfaction, he’d let her set the pace, she’d start slow, gradually increasing the speed. When their lips crash, she’d taste his passion and devotion. Her eyes would list to the side and—

In an armchair, fully clothed, sits Dean, watching with hooded eyes.

What the hell? She doesn’t even like Dean.

But his eyes meet hers, and they’re _intense_ —

He’s clearly enjoying the spectacle.

She’d keen just for him. His fingers would skim over his crotch, stimulating himself through his jeans, thrusting into the hand cupped over himself.

He’d deliberately keep his eyes locked on hers. His eyes would flutter when he came, those eyelashes fanning onto his cheeks in an alluring sight.

Then Cas would hit just the right spot. Orgasm would wrack through her, and Cas would spill into the condom wrapped around his dick.

After he ties off and throws away the condom, Cas would brush her hair back with a gentle hand, peck her cheek with sweet kisses and whisper her name before nuzzling against her neck.

Then Dean would crawl into the bed behind her, skimming her side—her arm, her waist and hips, her leg, with a feather light touch. He’d wrap his arms around her. The abrasive feel of his jeans against her bare skin would lull her into lazy contentment.

Unlike her clients, Dean and Cas would be solicitous. She’d feel valued.

Now, she bites her lip to keep from crying out as she comes.

Well, _that_ hadn’t gone as she’d expected.

xxxxxxxxxx

In the kitchen, Meg pours herself a glass of orange juice while the men fix themselves bowls of cereal. It’s time to have a little fun. Something to distract her from what she’d done last night . . .

“How was the sex yesterday?” Both men flush, and Meg grins. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a bottom, Dean.” Because he’d obviously been receiving the fucking, based on the sounds he’d made. Somehow, Dean’s face grows even redder.

“We alternate,” Cas asserts. “There’s no shame in it.”

“Cas, that’s none of her damn business,” Dean snaps.

Meg ignores him and addresses Cas. “Of course not,” she replies acidly. “I’m a bottom myself.”

From here, they can see the TV in the living room. Dean and Cas play the local news in the background every morning, and today is no different.

When she glances at the TV, she does a double take. A dead body. A prostitute who’d worked in Crossroads. Her throat slit, her clothes bloody.

She’d hated working for Crowley. She’d confessed as much to Meg. That, and the guilt she felt for getting a glimpse of Crowley’s illegal activities.

Meg had told her to get over it. Not like anything could be done about it, anyway.

She must’ve tried to turn state’s witness after the raid at Crossroads. And look where that got her.

Here Meg is, attempting the same thing. Not only putting herself in danger, but these men and their family.

They should forget about all this, or they’d meet the same fate. She should’ve never involved them. If she goes—maybe they’ll forget about her, and she can save them.

And save her own damn self, of course. Whatever punishment Alastair and Dad devised for her would be ten times worse than what they’d done to this poor girl.

She needs to skip town ASAP.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and gruesome imagery. See the end for a spoiler-ish warning.
> 
> I'm not sure when the next update will be since I'm working on my Destiel Reverse Bang fic right now, but I'm still very much working on this fic.
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading, and kudos and comments are welcome and much appreciated!

Meg steals into the bedroom deep into the night, while Dean and Cas are fast asleep. It’s like taking candy from a baby. Neither of them stirs. She peeks into Cas’s wallet first but finds only a couple of dollars. It’s not much, and maybe he’ll need them for a vending machine or something, so she doesn’t take them. Next, she peeks into Dean’s wallet and finds ten twenty dollar bills. Bingo. She slips out only half of them; after all, her goal’s not to bankrupt the guy, just have enough until she can start over under an alias. One hundred is slim pickings, but she can make it work.

After Dean and Cas leave for work in the morning, she returns to the bedroom and opens the closet. She spots a couple of suitcases and a duffel bag. The bag will be easiest to carry, so she chooses that one. In the living room, she shoves as many clothes as she can into the duffel. Then she grabs a little food from the kitchen and stuffs it into the bag.

Finally, she’s ready. Thank goodness her bruises have mostly faded. She doesn’t need to attract too much attention.

Still, she should take precautions. In the bedroom, she discovers a pair of aviator sunglasses and a Kansas City Chiefs cap. Perfect.

After hastily scrawling a note, she slings the duffel bag over her shoulder and steps outside. She takes a deep breath, savoring the fresh air before setting off toward the highway.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Dean returns to the apartment at the end of the day, something doesn’t seem quite right. Meg’s not sitting on the couch. _Probably in the bathroom_ , he thinks.

But when he passes the bathroom on his way to the bedroom, he does a double take.

Sure enough, the door is wide open, and no one’s inside.

What. The. Fuck.

“Meg?” he calls as he traipses through the apartment. No sign of her anywhere.

That’s when he notices the Post-it on the refrigerator.

He rips it off and scans it with disbelief.

He returns to the living room and realizes that half of her clothes are gone.

He reads the note again, this time more slowly.

> _Cas and Dean,_
> 
> _I’m sorry. I should’ve never dragged you into this. Stop the investigation._

Dean whips out his phone and dials his boyfriend.

“Dean?” Cas answers.

The words rush out of Dean’s mouth. “Cas. She’s gone.”

“Who? What--?”

“Fucking Meg, Cas. She left.”

Dean can practically hear Cas frowning. “But where would she go? Could someone have taken her?”

“You don’t get it, man. _She ran off_. She left a note and everything.”

“What does it say?” Dean reads the Post-it aloud. “Hold on. I’m coming home.”

“Okay.”

“Should we call Sam and Jess? Ask them to help us figure out what to do?”

“Sure.”

“All right. See you soon, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas.”

Dean closes his eyes and rubs the pads of his nose. He’s surprised by how much the whole thing _hurts_. He shouldn’t give a fuck.

He doesn’t.

Might as well take a shower before everyone gets here.

He empties his pockets first. His wallet flips open, and he catches a glimpse of green. Suddenly suspicious, he takes a closer look. Half of his bills are missing.

_Goddamn it._

He hurls the wallet across the room; it hits the wall and falls to the floor.

Fucking bitch took advantage of them.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Castiel gets home, Dean’s perched on the edge of the couch, fuming, his arms tightly crossed over his chest. His hair’s still wet from the shower, spikes sticking up in clashing strands. A Post-it dangles from his fingers.

Castiel carefully takes a seat next to him. “Can I see the note?” he asks.

Dean tosses it over without so much as a glance.

Castiel studies it, attempting to read between the lines.

“She betrayed us, Cas,” Dean grits out.

Castiel frowns. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

Dean turns furious eyes on him. “’Course it is. I told you she would just use us, Cas. But you didn’t fucking listen.”

“Let’s not jump to any hasty conclusions.”

“The damn whore played us!” Dean’s eyes widen momentarily, and something flickers in them—something vulnerable and pained. But a moment later, they’re shuttered, expressionless.

Dean’s bitterness at Meg’s departure stems from hurt, at least partially. Castiel’s wounded by it as well, but that Dean would feel similarly—it takes Castiel by surprise.

“Sam and Jess will be here soon. Maybe they can help us make sense of things.” _  
_

They remain silent until Sam and Jess arrive ten minutes later.

“We brought some dinner,” Sam declares as he tosses two pizzas on the coffee table. Dean opens both boxes, scoffing at the second one. “Veggie? Really?”

“Hey, I also got you supreme,” Sam points out.

“Thank God.”

“Should I get us some drinks?” Jess asks.

“Beer for me.”

“Okay. You, Cas?”

“I would like water, thanks,” Cas answers.

Jess leaves and returns a second later with plates, three water bottles, and one beer. Dean eyes the other drinks after taking the beer from Jess. “Lame.”

“Can I see the note?” Jess asks as they start eating. Castiel passes it to her. After she skims it, she hands it to Sam, who places it on the table when he’s finished.

“She stole my money,” Dean grouses. Castiel’s ears perk at the declaration. Dean hadn’t told him that. “And some of our damn food,” Dean continues. “She fucking used us, man.” Castiel understands why Dean would think so, but he doesn’t agree.

“How much money did she take?” Sam asked.

“One hundred dollars. Half of what was in my wallet.”

“Then she didn’t use us,” Castiel objects. Dean scowls, but Castiel barrels on. “If that was her purpose, she would’ve taken all your money, not some of it. She probably would’ve taken the laptop, too. Selling it would’ve netted her money.”

“Fuck, Cas, how can you be so naïve? She stayed long enough to get comfortable and drag us into her mess. Not to mention you spent a shit ton on her clothes. She waits long enough for us to let our guard down; then she skips out on us.”

“What would’ve been the purpose of that?—”

“God, you can’t be that stupid.—”

Castiel’s face heats up. “I am not being stupid. She would’ve stolen a lot more from us if that was her goal. And why would she want us to look into the mayor and his cronies?”

“Revenge, Cas. Straight up revenge.”

“In the note, she told us to stop the investigation.”

“Reverse psychology.”

“I agree with Cas,” Jess cuts in. Dean turns his glare on her, and Jess glowers back. “If her goal had been just to take advantage of us, she would’ve taken more when she’d left.”

“Yeah, she probably would’ve taken all the money in your wallet, not just some of it,” Sam agrees.

“Am I the only one with any damn sense around here?” Dean hurls.

“She wasn’t a bad person, Dean,” Jess counters. “And I think her apology is sincere. Something must’ve spooked her.”

“That would make sense,” Castiel opines.

“But what was it?” Sam muses.

Everyone ponders the question, except Dean, who leans back on the couch and sulks.

“Has she said anything lately?” Jess posits.

“Not that I can recall,” Castiel answers.

“Has there been anything on the news?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel replies, and Sam shrugs. Castiel asks, “Should we look for her?”

Dean snorts. “How, Cas?” he snaps. “She could be anywhere.”

“I do not appreciate your tone, Dean,” Castiel retorts. “If you don’t have anything constructive to say, perhaps you should say nothing at all.”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but Sam interrupts, “Let’s stay focused on what the plan’s gonna be.” Dean sinks back but doesn’t say anything. “We need to figure out what we’re gonna do about the investigation.”

“I say we continue,” Castiel puts in. “All this corruption needs to be exposed. Not to mention all the lives the mayor and his associates have ruined. They deserve justice.” The photographs of Balthazar Angle’s dead body flash through his mind, and he inwardly shivers.

“I also think we should continue,” Jess states.

“Yeah, definitely,” Dean says. Three puzzled faces turn to him. “What?”

“I’m just surprised,” Sam responds.

“Am I mad about Meg? Yeah. Does that mean I wanna let Mayor Douche and his people get away with everything they’ve done? Hell, no.”

“Okay. Then it’s unanimous. We keep going with the investigation.”

“What are we going to do about Meg?” Castiel inquires. Dean gives him a dirty look, but Castiel ignores him.

“What can we do?” Sam replies.

Castiel sighs. “I don’t know. But out there, she’s in grave danger.”

“Yes,” Jess says. “I’m worried.”

“But how can find her?” Sam asks. “Do we know where she would go?”

“No,” Castiel replies. “Perhaps we should just drive around looking for her?”

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard,” Dean snips.

“Do you have a better one?”

“Yeah. Forget about her.”

“No.”

“Just driving around to find her really would be a fruitless endeavor,” Sam observes. Dean eyes Castiel with vindication, and Castiel narrows his eyes at him. “It’s not like she’d be out wandering around in the open.”

“So what do we do?” Jess wonders. “Meg’s not safe out there.”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” Sam explains apologetically. “Not unless she gets in touch with us.”

“I think I will drive around anyway,” Castiel decides. “It might work. You never know.”

On that note, Sam and Jess leave, both promising to call Castiel if they get any other ideas about what to do.

xxxxxxxxxx

For the first day, Meg doesn’t try to hitch any rides. This close to town, someone might recognize her. As soon as the road intersects with a smaller highway, she turns. Staying out of the way seems like the best idea.

She sustains herself on a few Clif Bars. She walks through the night until she can’t hold herself up anymore. She stops at a few picnic tables by the side of the road, dropping her duffel bag on top of one. On the bench, she curls up on her side, cradling her hands to her chest, shivering. Even with the jacket on, it’s cold.

Tears well up in her eyes.

What the fuck?

Her heart throbs with a strange—something.

Probably just because she’s alone, and she has no idea where she’s going or if anything is in the forest behind her—

So what? She’s a survivor. She can handle this. She’d known she couldn’t stay with the Winchesters forever. Hell, why would she even want to? Even if they’d been inclined to keep her indefinitely, she doesn’t deserve them. Their kindness and warmth—it’s not for her. It’s something she’ll never comprehend; she could never belong in their world.

Dad, Crowley—those are the people she belongs with.

She trembles at the thought.

No, fuck that. She’ll _make_ herself belong somewhere. Start over in some random small town, maybe become the snarky town waitress.

She drifts off and awakes around dawn. She stuffs a granola bar into her mouth and heads back to the main road.

She decides it’s probably safe enough now to try for a ride. First, a middle-aged man drives her for around three hours until he reaches his destination, where he drops her off at a McDonald’s.

Her stomach growls. She could use some real food by now.

She steps into the building and takes a place in line, simply basking in the heat until it’s her turn to order. A junior cheeseburger, small fries, and a water cup. After scarfing down the food, she visits the bathroom, where she splashes water over her face and pees. Then it’s back to the road.

She strolls for a couple hours until a black pick-up pulls over. A young man rolls down the window and shouts, “Wanna ride?”

“Yeah,” Meg sighs.

He responds with the most disgusting smile possible. “What’re you gonna give me for it?”

A bead of sweat rolls down the center of her forehead. She knows what he’s asking, but maybe he’ll back off if she pretends she doesn’t. “How much do you want?”

His grin widens. “Oh, you know that’s not what I want, babe.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Oh?”

He licks his lips. “Trust me, I’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

No. She’s not doing that, never again.

But what’s one more time? Whoring is her only talent. Might as well take advantage of it.

Still, she promised herself she wouldn’t let a man buy her again.

An idea hatches in her mind.

She smiles back. “You wanna do it now?”

A sedan zips by. “No. Let’s go somewhere more . . . private.”

“Sure thing.” She approaches the truck with exaggerated swagger. She ignores the country music on the radio and sits still. The man’s hand creeps onto her thigh and squeezes. She resists the urge to bat it away.

An hour later, he exits at one of those scenic turn-offs. He switches off the truck and turns to her. “You give me what I want; I’ll take you wherever the hell you want. We stop whenever I want, you render payment. Got it?”

Meg’s mouth turns up. “Oh, yes.”

“Good.” He unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants, and tugs them down to his knees. He pries his dick out from underneath his boxers, not even bothering to draw them down. He brushes the tip of his penis against her lips. “Open.”

Open she does.

She licks the length, and he sighs in satisfaction. She’s an expert at this. He snakes a hand through her hair, clenching it tightly as he guides her over his dick. His moans grow louder, his cock more engorged, and soon he’s about to come—

She bites. _Hard_.

“Fucking bitch!” he snarls as his dick slips out of her mouth. Blood pulses out of it. She cackles. “What, you think this is funny, bitch?!” he punches her nose, and blood pours out. His fist lands on the lens of the sunglasses, shattering it. Pieces embed themselves in her skin. He pummels her, messing her face up more than Dad and Alastair had a few weeks ago. Still, she can’t stop giggling.

When he’s finished, he shoves her out of the cab with one booted foot, and she topples to the ground.

It fucking hurts, but she laughs even more.

He speeds away, and she spits blood out of her mouth. She wipes at the blood on her face and winces at the bruises.

Well, it had been fun. Maybe even worth it.

Then she realizes the duffel’s still in the truck with that bastard. _Goddamn it_.

xxxxxxxxxx

After the day’s lectures, Castiel cruises the streets looking for any sign of Meg. Sam’s probably right; he doesn’t expect to find any trace of her, but he has to do _something_. What if he’d saved her all those weeks ago only for something worse to happen to her now? The guilt haunts him.

When Castiel arrives home, it’s long past dinnertime. Dean’s lounging on the sofa, glazed eyes staring at the television screen.

“There’s some leftover pot roast in the fridge for ya,” Dean announces.

“Thank you.” After Castiel microwaves the dish, he grabs it and a glass of water then joins Dean on the couch.

“Did you find anything?” Dean asks.

Castiel waits until after he swallows the first bite to answer. “No.”

Dean snorts. “’Course not. Told ya.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“You’re wasting your time, Cas.”

“I have to try.”

Dean turns his full gaze on him now. “I don’t understand, Cas—why aren’t you more upset?”

“About what?”

“The fact that Meg stole our shit! That she stayed for weeks, took what she could, then ran off.”

Castiel frowns. “I . . . I don’t think she stayed with us for purely selfish purposes.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Castiel places his plate on the coffee table and focuses his attention on Dean. “I admit that I can sometimes be naïve, Dean. But I am _not_ stupid. What I don’t understand is why you’re not more worried. After living with her for some time, why don’t you care?”

“Maybe if she cared, I would.”

Castiel scowls. “I see there’s no convincing you. To answer your question, yes, I am angry that she left as she did. But my concern outweighs any of that. And I believe she must’ve had her reasons.”

“Whatever.” He turns back to the TV. Castiel doesn’t feel like arguing anymore, so he concentrates on finishing his meal.

xxxxxxxxxx

For a while, Meg lays in the dirt just catching her breath. She doesn’t have a watch, but she estimates that at least a couple hours pass. When she feels able, she limps into the nearest town, where there’s only a gas station with a Subway attached to it. She slips into the gas station bathroom, hoping no one notices her. She glances in the mirror. God, she looks like shit. Dirt and blood are smeared all over her face. Lord knows what passing motorists had made of her. Probably nothing. No one pays much attention to what’s in their periphery

She soaks a paper towel in the sink and begins scrubbing her face. Her skin feels raw against the rough surface, and she winces. She tries going more slowly, but that just makes things worse. It might hurt less, but it’ll take longer this way. She’ll just have to suck it up.

Once her face is clean, she notices the bruise underneath her left eye, another on the opposite cheekbone, and a split upper lip. Nicks pepper her cheeks. That’s what she gets for being stupid. She should’ve just ignored the guy in the truck and kept on walking.

She heads to the Subway and buys the $3.50 sub of the day. The cashier’s eyes fixate on the bruises. Meg glares at the girl until she looks away. Good. Meg’s not gonna deal with any nosy questions.

After her sandwich is finished, she finds a table and chews slowly, reluctant to continue on the road. But the farther she travels, the safer she’ll be. After she finishes the sandwich, she visits the bathroom before returning to the highway.

She should probably try to hail another ride. It’d be faster. But she feels like being alone right now. She hikes several hours past nightfall. That’s when she starts yawning, and her stomach growls. She spots a Waffle House and decides it’s as good a place as any.

Inside, she orders a waffle, hash browns, and coffee, for which they’ve got free refills. It’ll give her an excuse to stay for a few hours.

Once she cleans her plate, though, there’s nothing to do. Still, she doesn’t want to go back outside. She stares into cup after cup, zoning out.

“Let me guess: abusive husband?” someone asks, ripping her out of the fugue. Meg glances up to find the waitress, a blonde woman who appears to be in her mid-forties, standing beside her. Except for her and the woman, the place is empty.

“What time is it?” Meg asks.

The waitress checks her watch. “2:30.”

“Ah.” It seems more time has passed than she’d thought.

 “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

The woman pointedly eyes her face. “Your husband did that to you?”

Sure, why not? It’s as good an excuse as any. “Yeah.”

The waitress slides into the booth across from Meg. “Oh, honey. Finally got away, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“My first husband was like that. Didn’t get the stones to leave him until he broke my arm.”

Meg gives her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”

“Best decision I’ve ever made.” The woman pats Meg’s hand. “Why don’t you take a load off?”

 “What?”

The waitress shrugs. “Lay down. Take a nap. Looks like you need one.”

Meg smiles gratefully. “Thanks.” She stretches out on her side and closes her eyes.

xxxxxxxxxx

All too soon, someone shakes Meg’s shoulder. She startles awake. “Sorry, hon,” the waitress looming above her says. “But my shift’s about to end, and the place will be fillin’ up soon.”

Meg crawls out of the booth and passes by the morning waitress on the way outside. “Wait,” someone calls behind her. Meg turns around to face the blonde waitress, who shoves a bag at her. “Made you something for the road.”

Meg opens the bag and discovers an egg-and-cheese sandwich and fries. “Thanks.”

The woman places a hand on Meg’s elbow. “If you need anything. A ride . . . ”

“No,” Meg replies a little too sharply. The waitress flinches, and Meg feels like a jerk. “Sorry. I mean, I’ll be fine. But thank you.”

The woman beams at her. “Good luck.”

As she resumes her trek on the highway, Meg ponders the waitress. Her kindness had reminded Meg of Cas. Suddenly, she’s hit with an aching loneliness. She misses the dorky Winchesters, all four of them.

They’re probably glad she’s gone. At the very least, Dean certainly is.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Dean’s strolling down an alley, lost and alone. He’s looking for someone, but he doesn’t know who. A scream comes from behind him. He spins around and dashes toward the sound._

_It’s Meg, lying in a pile of trash. Blood seeps out from between her lips. She coughs. He kneels down beside her and notices that her jacket and pants have been slashed in places. There’s a gash in her throat, and he tries to staunch the wound with his hand. Blood drenches the hand, dribbles between his fingers._

_“I . . . ” Meg manages, voice weak._

_“Shh, don’t talk. Save your strength. We’ll get you out of here.”_

_Meg coughs out a grim laugh. “I’m . . . sorry,” she gasps out. Her head lists to the side, and he pinpoints the exact moment it happens. It’s like some force is leeched from her eyes, leaving her blank._

_He covers his face with his hands, paying the blood no heed as it smears his face. He feels hollowed out._

_Someone’s shaking his shoulders. “Dean!” a familiar voice calls._

Dean blinks, and he’s no longer in the alley. It’s dark, and someone’s hand—Cas’s—is clapped on his shoulder. “What?” he slurs.

“Are you all right?”

He eyes Cas. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seemed distressed. Kind of . . . I don’t know how to describe it. You were making this scary moaning sound, like you were hurt.”

“Just a bad dream, I guess.” It confuses him. He doesn’t give a shit about Meg, so why does the dream fill him with such dread?

xxxxxxxxxx

Meg walks for a few hours, but the exhaustion starts to kill her. Besides, she needs to be making faster progress. She’ll be more careful about accepting rides this time.

It doesn’t take long for an 18-wheeler to pull over. The man seems safe enough; at any rate, he doesn’t give her any sleazy looks. She clambers into the cab next to him.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” the man asks.

“My husband,” Meg deadpans back.

“And you’re not takin’ anymore of his shit?”

“That’s right.”

“Good for you.”

According to him, he’s got another day on his route, and he can take her as far she wants. It’s perfect, and she congratulates herself on finally having some luck.

He turns up the radio, which is playing Marvin Gaye’s “Got to Give It Up.” So he’s not a chatty Cathy. Suits her fine.

The longer the drive goes on, though, the more uneasy she feels. There’s no reason why. It’s not like the man is sketchily side-eying her. His attention stays on the road. He doesn’t say a word to her, either. Maybe that’s it. Maybe everything feels too smooth to be right.

Three hours later, he pulls into a travel stop. “I’m gonna buy some snacks. Want anything?”

“No.” She unbuckles her seatbelt. “But I could use a bathroom break.”  She turns away from him and reaches for the door handle. But before she can open it, something cold and metallic slaps onto her left wrist. She whips her head around and watches as the man attaches the other side of the handcuffs to the steering wheel.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

“What’re you doing?” she squeaks, inwardly cringing at how pathetic her voice sounds.

His eyes glint in triumph. “You’re Meg, right? Azazel’s daughter?” She stares at him. “Knew I recognized you.” He chuckles. “Boy, is there a reward out for you.”

 _Do I know him?_ She ponders the question as the man heads into the building. Now that she thinks about it, he does seem vaguely familiar . . .

Gordon. That’s his name. Gordon Walker. He’s an occasional courier for her dad.

Shit. And she thought she couldn’t get any dumber.

She scans the cab for anything she can use to pick the lock on the handcuffs. Eventually, she spots a bobby pin lying on the seat near her. _Bingo._ Picking up hitchhikers must be a habit for Gordon.

She works the bobby pin into the handcuffs and focuses on the task at hand, hoping Gordon will be gone long enough for her to finish.

She’s almost done when she notices Gordon exiting the building. Just as he enters the vehicle, she finally undoes the handcuffs. She darts for the door on her side, but he yanks her back by the wrist. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he hisses.

She elbows him in the nose, but his grip remains ironclad. He shoves her against the door, pressing his forearm against her neck as he retrieves a handgun from the glove compartment. He points it at her. “Make one move and you’re dead.”

“Fuck you!” She knees him in the groin. He drops the gun, and the arm leaves her neck. They both scramble for the gun. She reaches it first, points it at him, and smirks. “Now. I’m getting out of here, and you’re going to let me.”

“Like hell you are.”

“I’m the one with the leverage, fuckface.”

“Like you’re gonna use that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Your hands. They’re shaking.”

Oh. She hadn’t noticed. “So?”

“People like that don’t ever shoot.” He lurches toward her. One hand wraps around her neck, and it all happens so fast she’s not sure how the sequence of events goes.

All she knows is that, one second later, Gordon’s body crumples onto the seat. A bullet wound has pierced his heart.

She gapes down. Shit. What had she _done?_

The gun’s still in her hands, which are now trembling more violently. She drops the gun to the floorboard.

She doesn’t remember anything except for the solid feel of the trigger. She hadn’t even realized she’d pulled it.

Some blood has spattered onto her shirt. _Shit_. She zips up the jacket to hide the stain.

Okay. First thing’s first. She’s gotta get the body out of sight.

She braces herself. Okay. She grips Gordon’s shoulders and rolls the body into the back, depositing it by the boxes.

She pries open a couple and glances inside. Drugs. Unsurprising.

Shit, she’s gotta get out of here. But how?

She’s so done with this. She can’t keep running and hiding. Just as soon as she feels safe, someone’s gonna come for her again.

Tears start to her eyes. What the hell can she do?

 _Oh, God, what now, I’m done, shit, I should’ve just died when Alastair and Dad beat me, fucking Cas, when will this nightmare end, never, never, I wanna go home, just, can I go home please?, just huddle under the covers and hide from everything, cry, shit, now here come the waterworks, and am I_ sobbing _?!, what the hell—_

No. _Compose yourself, bitch_. Crying never solved shit. She needs to _do_ something.

She does the only thing she can think of. She uses the few coins in her pocket to dial the phone by the truck stop. To call Cas.

xxxxxxxxxx

“I don’t understand the comments on my paper,” Ava complains after she sits down across from Castiel in his office.

“Here. I’ll explain them to you.” Ava places the paper on the desk, and Castiel points to the first one. “Here, this means—”

His cell phone rings. He picks it up from the desk and glances down. Unknown caller. Probably a telemarketer, but perhaps it’s something important, perhaps—

“Sorry. I have to take this,” Castiel informs Ava. He presses the answer button. “Hello?”

“Cas?” Someone on the other end replies. He hears a lot of static, but he thinks he recognizes the voice—at least, he hopes so.

“Meg?”

“Yeah, Cas. It’s me.” He thinks he hears a sniffle. Or did he imagine that?

“Hang on.” He eyes Ava. “Sorry, this is important. Can we discuss your essay some other time?”

“Sure, Dr. Novak.” Ava grabs her paper and exits the office. Castiel stands up to close the door as he addresses Meg. “Where are you? Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” Meg answers as he resumes his seat at the desk. “Can you just—” Her breath hitches. “Can you just come get me?”

“Of course. Where are you?”

After she tells him where to pick her up, Castiel assures her he’ll be there as soon as possible. Still, it will take at least eight hours, probably more. He texts Dean to let him know what he’s doing (as best he can without mentioning Meg’s name, so there won’t be a record tying them to her), cancels the rest of his classes for the day, and rushes to the car. He has so many questions, but right now, he’s just grateful to know where Meg is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Warning: A man coerces Meg into giving him a blow job, and she bites his penis in retaliation.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, it's been almost four months since I've updated. I was working on my Destiel Reverse Bang fic, and then I've been having a difficult time getting back into the groove of this fic. This is the only fic I'm currently working on, so hopefully it won't be too much longer until the next update. 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos. I'm not sure if anyone is actually reading this fic or cares, and at the moment, that's one of the things that's sapping my ability to write. I do appreciate all of you who read this, even if you don't leave any feedback. Subscriptions also help show someone out there is reading. 
> 
> See the end of the chapter for warnings.
> 
> Finally, this chapter is unbeta'ed.

Castiel drives nonstop, reluctantly pausing a little over the halfway mark when he needs to refill the gas tank.  His stomach growls, and the pressure on his bladder doesn’t help. Meg’s waiting, and who knows what could happen to her within the next few hours? There’s no time to linger.

But it wouldn’t benefit Meg for him to faint at the wheel or urinate in his pants. _Fine. I’ll take care of it now._

Once the gas tank is full, he heads into the building and toward the restroom. After he empties his bladder, he sags with relief. When he leaves the bathroom, he scans his surroundings, decides to ignore the convenience store, and aims for the attached Wendy’s. He purchases a large soda, large fries, and two cheeseburgers. He tears into the first burger before he even reaches his vehicle. As he returns to the road, he tosses the empty wrapper at the passenger seat.

Not long after he wolfs down the food and finishes guzzling the soda, his eyes begin to droop. He starts once he realizes it. With sheer force of will, he keeps his eyes open, and he feels like the walking dead. Dammit. He should’ve bought a giant cup of coffee back at the truck stop.

Finally, around midnight, he reaches the designated spot. Despite the late hour, tons of 18-wheelers are scattered all over the parking lot. He knows Meg is in one of them, but which one? He doesn’t want to snoop around; that would just make him look like a creep.

Maybe if he steps out of the car, she’ll reveal herself.

He exits the Continental and leans back against the driver’s side as he studies the parking lot. He crosses over to the section for big rigs and strolls around, trying to look nonchalant. When he reaches the end of the first row, he thinks he hears a noise, but it’s faint. He’s about to pass on to the second row when the voice grows more audible.

“Psst, Cas,” it whispers.

He turns toward the source, a figure crouching by the final truck in the first row. The form is indistinct, but he knows who it is.

“Meg?” he calls.

She puts a finger to her lips and nods at the truck’s cab. She scurries toward it, and Castiel follows her inside. She sits in the driver’s seat while he perches on the edge of the passenger seat. Her hair is tucked into Dean’s Kansas City Chiefs cap, but more noteworthy than that is her face.

It’s peppered by bruises and cuts. “What happened?” Castiel gasps.

Meg blanches. “What do you mean?”

Castiel cups her cheek with one hand. “Who hurt you?”

She relaxes a smidge. “Oh. That.” She doesn’t say anything further, and Castiel raises an eyebrow at her. “Just some guy. You know.”

 _Descriptive_. “What guy?”

She yanks her head out of Castiel’s grasp and leans against the window. “Someone got fresh with me.” Her eyes meet Castiel’s. “And I’m done with that shit.”

“You said no, and he did that to you?”

“Something like that.” She smirks. “But don’t worry. I got him back good.”

 _I trust you did._ “We should go. Where’s your bag?” His eyes roam the cab, but he doesn’t see it.

“I lost it when I tangled with that asshole.” The man who’d beat her up, Castiel surmises. Her tone turns sober as she continues. “There’s something I’ve gotta tell you. Before you decide if you want me to come with you.—”

“Of course you’re coming with me,” Castiel interrupts.

Meg shakes her head. “Not until you know everything. This is too big to keep from you.”

Castiel’s veins thrum with ice. “You’re scaring me, Meg.”

“Good.” She stands up. “Follow me.” She leads him into the back of the truck. When Castiel’s eyes alight on the floor, he can’t breathe.

He points at it, eyes wide. “That’s a—that’s a—it’s—”

“A dead body, yes.” Castiel merely stares at her. He can’t look at the body without feeling nauseated. “His name’s Gordon Walker. He worked for my dad.”

“What—why are you showing me this? Do you mean you . . . ” He averts his gaze from Meg. “You—did . . . this?”

“Yep. I killed him,” Meg answers, cool as you please. Castiel just gawks at the scene. He can’t believe this. It must be a nightmare. Sure, Meg has a checkered past, but he’d never thought she could actually kill someone. Despite what Dean might believe, Castiel is not completely naïve. He likes to think he’s a good judge of character even if he does perceive people’s goodness more readily than others do. Usually, he’s proven right.

She shrugs. “It was an accident. He recognized me. He had a gun, and I got a hold of it . . . ” She closes her eyes. “It all happened so fast. I was just trying to get away. I didn’t mean to do it.”

Castiel gapes at her. “How can you be so calm about this?” he sputters.

Her eyes fly open, and now he notices something wild in them. “You think I’m fucking _calm_ about this?!” she hurls. “What am I supposed to do? What’s done is done, and freaking the hell out isn’t going to change things.” Tears start to her eyes, but she furiously blinks them away. “You know what? Just leave me here. Nothing can fix this—”

“I’m not going to leave you here!” Castiel asserts. How can she even suggest something so absurd?

He inches toward her. To do what, he doesn’t know, but he wants to assure her everything will be okay.

He acts without thinking.

Once he realizes what he’s done, it surprises him. If he’d known his intentions as he’d drifted toward her, he would’ve stopped himself.

xxxxxxxxxx

Cas gently brushes his lips against Meg’s, and seriously, what the _fuck?_

She shoves him away and glares at him. Cas has a boyfriend, a boyfriend who he’s in love with and vice versa, and she’s nothing to him, not really.

How dare he take advantage of her like that? She might’ve believed Dean capable of it, but not Cas. She never thought he could bestow empty kisses, trying to what—use the situation to get in her pants? It happens a lot. A woman shows a hint of vulnerability, and a man is all over her. She takes comfort from it, even though for the man, it’s nothing but a quick lay.

Meg isn’t falling for that shit.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Meg asks acidly.

Cas’s eyes widen, that characteristic stupid innocent expression overwhelming his face. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffs.

He turns up the dial on the puppy-dog look. “I didn’t. I swear.”

“Whatever. Let’s leave.”

She stalks out of the truck then realizes she doesn’t know where Cas parked, so she’s gotta wait for him to catch up. It takes him entirely too long to appear. She follows him to his Continental and settles into the passenger seat. After he starts up the car, Cas turns to her, eyes wet. “I truly am sorry, Meg. Believe me. Please.”

He seems to be looking for absolution, and she knows what just happened is going to hang over the whole drive if she doesn’t provide it. “I do. Believe you.” But she’s not sure she does. She has to mull over everything before she decides. She wants to believe him; he’s like a male version of Pollyanna, for goodness sake. But in her experience, no matter how pure someone seems on the surface, everyone’s got their own layer of filth underneath.

A smile blossoms on his face. God, he really is beautiful. Of course, that doesn’t excuse his behavior, but still. She’s not blind.

“Thank you,” Cas exhales.

The first half of the trip is filled with awkward silence. After they stop for a short break, Cas finally opens his mouth as he merges back onto the highway.

“We’re not telling Dean,” he declares.

“Telling Dean what?” she replies. “What you did?” She can’t bring herself to vocalize the word, _kiss_.

He looks abashed. “Yes. That, of course. But I meant Gordon Walker.”

“We can’t keep that from him!” she exclaims.

“Why not?”

“It’s a damn _murder_ , Cas. It’s too big to keep secret.”

“It was hardly murder.”

She snorts. “Then what do you call it?”

“Self-defense. What you described, it’s self-defense.”

“How do you know my story isn’t a crock of shit?”

He halfway turns toward her, his right eye meeting her left one. “It’s not.”

“Whatever,” she sighs. “The point is, we can’t hide something like that from Dean. Not if I’m going to be staying in your apartment.” It’s better for them if she keeps away from the apartment, honestly, but she knows Cas wouldn’t accept any other arrangement. She curses herself. Why had she thought calling Cas was a good idea? She’d already dragged him and his family into a mess, and with Gordon Walker’s death, it’s now a lot worse.

She’d just been so stunned by what’d happened with Gordon. That’s the only explanation she can think of.

Cas frowns. “If Dean knew, he would force you out of the apartment. Then you’d have nowhere else to go.”

“I can leave town again,” she mutters.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “And you see how that worked out.”

“It was just bad luck, really. I can take care of myself.”

“You’re not running away again.”

“Whatta ya gonna do, watch over me twenty-four/seven?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll look for you.”

“Like you’d find me.”

“I wouldn’t rest until I found you.” He pauses. “Dean could tell you.”

For some damn reason, his words bring a lump to her throat. Cas expending so much effort to find her.—No one’s ever cared about her that much before.

Then again, this is _Cas_. That’s just the sort of shit he does.

“You’ll stay in the apartment. We’ll keep you safe.”

Like anyone could do that. “That’s fine with me. But I—we—can’t tell Dean such a large lie. It’s not fair to him.”

“Throwing you back on the street wouldn’t be fair, either.” After a minute of silence, he sighs. “I admit it’s not ideal, but the deception is necessary. It’s the lesser of two evils.”

 _No, it’s not_. But she doesn’t tell Cas that. She’s too exhausted to continue arguing. “Okay,” she says softly. Her assent is going to bite them in the ass, but at least it will appease Cas for the moment. Besides, telling Dean about Gordon kind of scares her, truth be told. He hates her enough already, though she doesn’t understand why she should care.

xxxxxxxxxx

Not long after Dean wakes up in the morning (not that he’d gotten much sleep, worrying about Cas and Meg), he receives a text message from Cas. It says he and Meg should arrive within an hour. If Dean waits for them, that’ll make him late for work, but oh, well.

After getting dressed and scarfing down two bowls of cereal, he settles on the couch and pries on his boots. Then he flips on the TV and tunes in to the news.

He catches the tail end of the weather, after which the headlines from earlier play again. Apparently State Senator Dick Roman will be in town later this week to support Mayor Alastair Badham, who no one doubts will run for reelection.

Huh. Maybe he and Cas should check out some of the campaign events. Since Dick Roman is involved with Alastair, Azazel, and their associates. Speaking of Dick Roman, he still hasn’t asked Andy how he’s connected to the guy. He should get on that.

Now they’re talking about a murder at a Pilot travel stop, some place out in the sticks. Someone named Gordon Walker was found dead in the back of his semi, which had been loaded with illegal drugs. Presumably, he must’ve gotten in a dispute with a rival drug dealer and—

Wait a minute. Isn’t that the Pilot where Cas had picked up Meg? Is Gordon Walker one of Azazel’s men? He’ll ask Meg.

He walks to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. When he returns to the living room, the front door unlocks, and Cas and Meg enter.

“Hey—” Dean begins before he notices Meg’s face. “Holy shit! What happened to you?”

“Hello to you, too, Dean,” Meg retorts.

Dean’s voice softens. “Seriously? What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m listening,” Dean responds as he sits on the sofa once again.

“Let’s just say some guys are real creeps. I don’t really feel like talking about it, if that’s okay?”

“Fine,” Dean mumbles. He’d really like to teach a lesson to whatever son of a bitch did that to her. With all the cuts and bruises, no part of her face is unmarred. She tangled with some twisted motherfucker.

Meg plops onto the couch beside Dean and sighs. “I’m tired.”

“Me, too,” Cas puts in. He starts toward the hallway. “I’m going to rest for a bit.”

“Dude, don’t you have class?” Dean points out.

“Yes,” Cas admits, and suddenly all his weariness seems to descend upon him. His shoulders sag, and dark circles of exhaustion line his eyes.

“Um. I’ll call the department and let them know class is canceled,” Dean offers.

Cas smiles gratefully. “Thank you.”

Dean makes the phone call in the kitchen then returns to the couch. He should head out to work, but first, he’ll put the question to Meg. “Do you know someone named Gordon Walker?”

Meg pales. “Why?”

“He turned up dead at some truck stop. There were a buncha drugs in his semi, and I just wondered if he worked for your dad?”

“Oh.” Meg relaxes. “Yeah. He was a runner, I think.” She shrugs. “Musta done something to piss Dad off.”

“Ah.” He stands up. “Well, I’m headed out. See you later.”

As he drives to the construction site, he ponders Meg’s reaction. He’s not an idiot. She’d acted shifty, and now the beat-up face makes sense. The man responsible has already been punished for it. Gordon Walker must’ve recognized her, and they’d fought. She’d killed him, and he probably deserved it, but still. It changes things.

Does Cas know? Cas wouldn’t hide something like that from him, would he? Unless Meg got to him. He does have a soft spot for her, after all. He needs to put Cas to the test. Somehow find out what Cas knows without letting on that he’s onto the truth. It’s the only way he’ll find out if Cas is lying to him.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel strips down to his boxers and undershirt before climbing into bed. Unease digs into his gut. And shame.

What had he done?

Why had he kissed Meg? He’d acted before he’d known he would, but something about it must’ve been floating through his mind.

He thinks back to the incident. He’d felt concerned for Meg, of course. Though she’d been trying to hide it, she’d clearly been emotional. He’d felt a surge of sympathy, the desire to comfort, but you didn’t have to kiss someone to do that. You probably shouldn’t, not unless you bear romantic feelings toward the individual—

But he doesn’t feel romantically inclined toward Meg. Fond, yes, but nothing else. Although there had been that one moment, when he’d shown Meg his burns.

Maybe this is what Dean means when he talks about attraction versus emotional attachment. The only person Castiel has ever been attracted to is Dean, and that didn’t even happen until after he’d fallen in love.

Sometimes, Dean points out individuals he finds attractive. At first, Castiel had protested, thinking it meant Dean didn’t love him. Not like he loved Dean. But then Dean had explained that appreciating someone’s looks didn’t mean he wanted to have sex with them. To Castiel, it was a (and still is) an alien concept, but Dean had spoken true.

So perhaps he’s now feeling attraction the way Dean does. It’s confusing because he doesn’t love Meg.

It doesn’t negate his love for Dean.

He has nothing to feel guilty about, not unless the kiss is repeated.

Doesn’t hiding the kiss from Dean make the kiss a bigger deal than it was? But he can’t tell Dean about it; what if Dean blows it out of proportion?

Keeping the secret about Meg and Gordon Walker, too . . . it’s a tall order. It makes him deeply uncomfortable, but so would throwing Meg back to the wolves. If he has to keep Dean in the dark, then that’s the price he must pay.

xxxxxxxxxx

Once Dean leaves, Meg unzips her jacket. She winces when she glances down at her shirt. It’s covered inblood. She can’t believe she’d forgotten about that. Disgusting. Cas is taking a nap, and she doesn’t want to disturb him. She’s still got a few quarters in her pocket, so she can just slip down to the laundry room herself. If she hears someone coming, she’ll hide. She tears off the dirty shirt and pulls on one of the shirts she’d left here.

After a trip to the laundry room, she plops back down on the couch and stares at the TV, but she’s not paying attention. There’s too much to process. Now that she’s had some time to cool off, she doesn’t resent Cas’s kiss. Not really. It was probably an instinctual reaction to her girly behavior. She’s been _living with Cas_ , for Christ’s sake, and it’s not like you can hide your true personality from roommates, not unless you never interact with them. He’s not the type to take advantage of someone. He’d just been trying to make her feel better. It didn’t mean anything, not really.

For some damn reason, that saddens her.  She does like him. A lot. If she were anything but a dumbass whore, she would be attracted to him. But she knows better than to develop feelings for anyone. It just leads to betrayal and heartache. Besides, people don’t like her that way; she’s just good for a quick lay.

Not to mention the fact that Cas already has a boyfriend. No matter how much she may quarrel with Dean, she knows he’s a decent guy. He obviously loves Cas deeply, just like Cas loves Dean. Coming between them would be criminal.

It would be better if she left for good. But who knows what trouble Cas might get himself into if he searched for her?

Soon, it’s time to transfer the shirt from the washer to the dryer. When she returns from the laundry room, Cas is standing beside the couch, face contorted in panic.

“Where did you go?” he demands.

“Cool it,” she huffs, hoping he can’t detect her nerves. “I had to clean my shirt.”

He squints in confusion. “Why?”

“Because it was dirty.”

“I could’ve washed it for you.”

“No.” She can’t look him in the eye. “It had . . . blood. There was blood on it.”

“Oh,” Cas exhales, expression grave. “I see.” He swallows. “Well. You should let me take care of the rest.”

“It’s in the dryer.”

“Okay. I shall retrieve it when it finishes drying. We don’t want to risk anyone seeing you. Especially with you . . . ”

“With my messed up face, I know.” His eyes fill with sympathy, so she turns away from him.

xxxxxxxxxxx

At lunch, Dean approaches Andy. “Can we talk?” He remembers Crowley confirming Andy’s connection to Dick Roman the night he’d visited Crossroads with Cas, but the facts are hazy.

Andy glances at the other construction workers before addressing Dean. “Can I smoke a joint?”

“If you give me one.”

“Fine,” Andy sighs. They retreat to the ruins of the old library. Andy rolls two joints, passes one to Dean, and lights them both. After a long drag, Andy begins, “So, what’s up?”

“I heard State Senator Dick Roman’s coming to town this week to meet with the mayor,” Dean replies.

“So?”

Dean stalls with a long drag. “Someone told me you know him?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

Dean shrugs. “Do you?”

“Not really. My dad works with Dick Roman’s cousin in an accounting office, but that’s it. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering.” Andy looks skeptical, but Dean barrels on with his next question before he can chicken out. “What about Gordon Walker?”

Andy freezes. “Who?” he squeaks.

“You do know him.”

“I might. Why?”

“I just. The news said he was found dead at a truck stop.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“He had a cache of drugs in his semi. You once told me you’d hook me up with the trade I needed a little extra dough.”

“Okay?”

“I was actually considering it,” Dean ad libs. “But if it means I might die . . . I think that’s a negatory.”

“Even if you wanted to, I don’t think you could.” Andy utters the words a little too quietly, setting off Dean’s alarm bells.

“Why not?”

“I actually brought it up with my boss once.” His eyes scan the area around them before he lowers his voice to a whisper. Dean has to press his ear to Andy’s lips to hear him. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. My boss. His name is Azazel, and he’d kill me if he knew I was telling you.”

Dean knows Andy isn’t exaggerating. “Then why are you telling me?” he whispers back.

“Why are you asking all these questions, Dean?” Dean doesn’t know how to answer. “No, don’t tell me,” Andy continues. “When Azazel heard your name . . . he almost flipped. I don’t know why, and I don’t want to know. Just, whatever it is you’re up to . . . be careful. Okay?”

“Okay,” Dean echoes as he steps back. Andy puts out his joint and returns to the others, but Dean remains alone for a few minutes.

Shit. What the hell is going on? What could he have done to arouse Azazel’s suspicions? Is it because they’d bumped into each other at the community center? It’d been a close call.

But how’d the guy discovered Dean’s name?

He should ask Cas. Maybe he could help Dean figure it out.

No. He’s not gonna confide in Cas about it, not with Cas keeping secrets from him. Cas needs to come clean before Dean shares. Two can play that game, and Cas doesn’t deserve his transparency, not if he’s gonna hide a fucking _killing_.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When Castiel crawls into bed, Dean’s already settled. Since he napped earlier, Castiel isn’t really that tired, but he needs to get his sleep schedule back on track. The melatonin he’s taken should help him fall asleep.

“So, I watched the news this morning,” Dean mentions.

“Yes?” Castiel responds, puzzled.

“Apparently Dick Roman is coming to town, and he’ll be at some events with the mayor. I figured we could check ’em out. See if anything sticks out to us.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“Okay. Cool. There’re two things I think we should look at. One is a rally in the convention center. Y’know, the one set up to launch the mayor’s reelection campaign?” Castiel nods. “Yeah. Later in the week, there’s a meet and greet in the center of the mall. You can check that one out, and I’ll go to the big rally with Sam.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “Why don’t we just attend both events together? Sam can come along with us.”

“No, I think it’s best if we split up.”

“Why?”

“’Cause we might pick up on different things.”

“Which is we should both go to both events.”

“It might seem suspicious if we keep poppin’ up everywhere together.”

“How so? We’ll just look like conscientious citizens.”

“It just will, okay!” Dean snaps. Castiel flinches at the unexpected harshness of his tone, but with his gaze fixed to the ceiling, Dean doesn’t notice. “So, what do you say?” Dean asks in a more even tone. “Should we do it?”

“Yes.”

“Awesome.” He rolls onto his side, presenting his back to Castiel. “’Night.”

“Good night, Dean.” Castiel twines his arms around Dean, tugging him close, tucking his chin onto Dean’s shoulder, inhaling the man he loves.

“Don’t,” Dean mumbles as he pulls away from Castiel.

What? They always wrap themselves in each other when preparing to sleep. Unless—“Are you mad at me, Dean?”

“’M not mad,” Dean murmurs. “Just not in the mood, okay?”

No, that can’t be it. Dean loves to cuddle. He speaks the language of touch, and if he shies away from it, it usually means he’s angry or hurt.

Maybe he resents Castiel bringing Meg back. But what if—what if his instinct has somehow caught on to Castiel’s brief lapse in judgment with regard to Meg? Not that Dean could know about the kiss. If so, surely he would’ve brought it up. But Dean is more intuitive than anyone Castiel has ever met. Even if he doesn’t know anything, he might sense that something’s off.

Not to mention Gordon Walker’s death. Does he suspect?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for potential infidelity. (Cas kisses Meg, but he's in a relationship with Dean. However, the end game is Meanstiel, and the incident is one stepping stone toward that result.)
> 
> There's also discussion of a death and brief mention of drugs.
> 
> If I've left something out, feel free to let me know, and I'll remedy the situation.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another unbeta-ed chapter. Sorry, I'm still having a bit of trouble actually writing, so this chapter probably isn't one of my best. I hope it's decent, though.
> 
> See the end of the chapter for warnings.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions are much appreciated! (I've noticed a couple more since I posted the last chapter, which is heartening.)

On his way to the convention center, Sam picks Dean up from the apartment. After a few minutes of silence, Sam asks, “Is there something going on between you and Cas?”

“Why would you think that?” Dean scoffs. Shit. Trust Sam to try to start a heart-to-heart.

“I just thought Cas would’ve come along.”

“Someone’s gotta stay home and watch Meg. Make sure she doesn’t run off again.” That sounds like a legitimate excuse, right?

Sam rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Dean. If that was really the reason, we could’ve got Jess to stay with her.”

“I don’t wanna bother her.”

“Jess wouldn’t mind.” After a pause, Sam continues, “C’mon, man. Just tell me what’s up.”

“Everything’s fine, Sam.”

“Suit yourself,” Sam replies as he pulls into a parking spot.

As they head toward the convention center’s entrance, Dean reflects on his suspicions. He doesn’t want to share them with anyone else until he’s got proof. He could just confront Cas and Meg and ask if Meg had killed Gordon Walker. But he’s afraid they might lie to his face, and that’d just piss him off more.

Cas is vulnerable to the cold shoulder. He’ll crack eventually. And if he doesn’t . . . well, he’d just have to leave Cas.

His heart throbs at the very thought. Hopefully, it’ll never come to that. But some lines can’t be crossed, and if Cas can hide a murder for that long--

But there is a tiny chance he’s wrong, that Gordon Walker’s death was a coincidence, and if that’s so, he doesn’t want to plant more sinister possibilities in Sam’s head.

Inside, Dean and Sam sit in one of the middle rows. Sam had snatched up one of the programs from an usher, and now he and Dean scan it. Introduction by Lilith Heller, followed by words from Alastair Badham, with State Senator Dick Roman finishing up the night.

“Fuck,” Dean murmurs.

“What is it?” Sam responds.

“Lilith’s suspicious of me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’d bet money on it.” Dean swallows. “And with Azazel keeping an eye on me, too—”

“What? You didn’t tell me about that.”

 _Shit_. _I haven’t told Cas yet; I hope Sam doesn’t bring it up with him. If he does, that’ll ruin any chance of succeeding with the silent treatment._ “Yeah. Someone told me.”

“Who?”

“Not important.” He’s not gonna draw Andy into the investigation. “Just, don’t tell Cas, okay?”

Sam frowns. “Why not?”

“Just—I don’t want him panicking.” _Good save_.

“I think he oughtta know.”

“Maybe. But not yet, okay?”

“Fine,” Sam huffs. “You know, you can’t stop talking to Cas forever.”

“Who says I’m not talking to him?”

“It’s just the way you’re acting, Dean. Like you do when you’re mad at him. I know you’re not a big fan of having Meg back in your apartment, and I don’t blame you. If it’s really that big a deal, she can stay with me and Jess—”

“No!” Dean protests, a little too vehemently. Sam’s eyes widen in shock. Even Dean’s surprised by his tone. Of course, he doesn’t want to saddle Sam and Jess with Meg, but there’s more to it than that, something he’s too afraid to examine.

“It’s none of your business, okay?” Dean asserts. “Yeah, I’m not happy to be harboring a friggin’ _fugitive_ again, but if it’s what Cas wants—I’ll support him.” _As long as he stops hiding things from me_. “Because I love him.” _I love that impulse, his desire to always do good._ Contemplating Cas’s earnestness, his caring nature—Dean’s belly fills with warmth.

“Okay. I don’t pretend to understand it, but I guess you know what you’re doing.” Sam’s reluctance doesn’t escape Dean.

A commotion occurs near the stage. Soon, Lilith Heller strides toward the podium, and applause erupts. Dean swears her eyes meet his, but maybe he’s imagining it. After all, there’s a huge crowd tonight; how would she happen to pick him out?

She praises Alastair for bringing more jobs to the community (she doesn’t mention lining her pockets) before she presents the mayor, who walks out to the chorus of thunderous applause. He recounts even more of his achievements, how he’s revived the economy, improved city infrastructure, and reduced crime. No wonder he’s got a high approval rating. If Dean didn’t know better, he might even support the guy, though he’s leery of politicians. Just goes to show that no one can be that perfect. Damn, can the guy put on an act. Just as Dean had at the town meeting, he recalls Meg’s experiences with the bastard. He shivers. Just the thought of encountering the mayor, unmasked like that, scares the shit out of him. Poor Meg.

Poor Meg? What the fuck? He shoves her out of his mind.

Everyone’s clapping again, and Dick Roman’s waving at the audience. Alastair grasps his hand and raises it aloft, and— _wait, what?_ If Roman has just announced Alastair’s candidacy, shouldn’t the opposite be happening?

“What’s going on?” Dean asks Sam, straining to be heard over all the cheering.

“You can’t be serious?” Sam snips. Dean remains nonplussed, and Sam sighs with exasperation. “Were you paying _any_ attention?”

“Just answer the question, Sammy.”

“Dick Roman just said he’s running for governor.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Alastair’s just given his endorsement, and now Lilith—” Sam’s eyes rove toward the stage. “—is doing the same thing.”

A _bang_ punctuates the air, and everyone glances around frantically, trying to find the source of the noise. Probably just a car backfiring. But then the sound is repeated, and chaos takes over.

Everyone scrambles toward the exits. Shots ring out more rapidly as the crowd flees, but Dean remains frozen.

Sam grabs his wrist. “Dean, run!” he shrieks. Dean allows Sam to pull him to his feet, and they dash toward the nearest door. As they clamber into the Impala, Dean thinks he sees a familiar figure sitting in an old Dodge Ram two cars down. _Azazel Masters_.

_Now I know I’m hallucinating. It’s too much of a coincidence. There’s no way . . ._

“Dean, we should go,” Sam says.

“Not yet, Sammy,” Dean mutters. Cars clog the space in the parking lot, honking frantically at each other. They’re not making it out of here for a while. Besides, they’re less of a target to a gunman if they just sit here and duck when necessary.

xxxxxxxxxx

Neither Meg nor Cas is paying much attention to the TV. Cas is grading papers, and Meg . . . well, she’d actually halfway dozed off, but she’s startled awake by a loud beep.

“What the hell was that?” Meg gripes.

“Shh,” Cas replies, pulling his knees to his chest and clasping his arms around them, as if he’s burrowing into himself. “Something’s happened.” He stares at the TV, unblinking. The same dumbass comedy is still playing, but now a ticker crawls across the bottom of the screen.

Shooting has broken out at the convention center. No word on the condition of the night’s speakers, Lilith Heller, Alastair Badham, and Dick Roman. Or on whether there are casualties.

“Dean,” Cas gasps. He fumbles in his pockets for his phone, but to no avail. Meg spots it lying on the coffee table; she picks it up and tosses it to Cas.

He dials Dean’s number, but no answer. His face contorts in panic as he continues to meet with no success.

“Try Sam,” Meg suggests.

“Sam?” Cas ventures a moment later. Meg releases the breath she’d been holding. Not that she particularly cares about Dean and Sam. She just doesn’t want Cas to have a goddamn breakdown; she doesn’t know if she could handle it.

“The shooting, I saw it on the news,” Cas continues. “You and Dean . . . uh huh . . . you’re both okay? . . . Thank God. . . Thank you, Sam.” Cas hangs up.

It doesn’t seem like he actually talked to Dean. That’s odd.

On the news, updates are slow in coming. It also seems to be taking forever for Dean to arrive. “What’d they do, stop for a four-course meal?” Meg remarks sarcastically.

“What?” Cas responds.

“Dean. He’s still not here.”

“Oh. Yes. Sam informed me they might not be back for a while. Apparently, the parking lot is jammed.”

Makes sense.

It’s almost midnight by the time Dean lumbers into the room. “Dean!” Cas exclaims, practically tackling his boyfriend in a rush to embrace him. “You’re okay?”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, Cas. We told you on the phone.”

Cas pulls back and studies Dean. “Where’s Sam?”

“It’s late, Cas. He went home.”

“What happened? We should discuss—”

Dean throws up his hands. “Jeez, Cas, it’s fine. We’ll talk about it tomorrow with Sam, all right?”

“Fine,” Cas sighs. He stalks off toward the bedroom.

“Wow,” Meg comments, fixing Dean with a level stare. “That’s cold.”

“What?” Dean huffs.

“Distant, much? He was so damn worried, and you just shut him down.”

“You,” Dean snarls. “You don’t get to judge me, bitch.”

“Classy.”

On his way out of the room, he flips her the middle finger behind his back.

Asshole. He doesn’t deserve Cas.

On TV, a detective named Victor Henriksen (wasn’t he the guy who the news spoke to about Crossroads?) informs a newswoman that two shooting suspects have been apprehended. Meg recognizes their names; they’re two of Dad’s thugs. She doubts they’ll get their just punishment.

As ruthless as those men are, at least they didn’t kill anyone. They would’ve felt zero remorse for it. Hell, it’s not like Dad or his more “refined” buddies would’ve cared, either.

xxxxxxxxxx

Krissy Chambers trudges into Castiel’s office, rough draft clutched in her right hand. Castiel gestures for her to take a seat, and she perches on the chair across from him. She sets the essay on his desk and ventures, “Hey, Dr. Novak. Um. I was wondering if you could tell me if I’m on the right track for the assignment?”

“Of course,” Castiel replies as he pulls the paper toward himself. He glances down at the first page and discovers that Krissy’s written about _The Day of the Locust_ and its criticism of the American dream. Fairly basic material, but suitable for an introductory literature class.

Castiel scans the first page then flips to the second. But his mind wanders.

Dean has been so cold to him lately. Why? During the past couple of days, he’s scarcely said a word to Castiel, just communicated routine matters like when it’s time for dinner. The only time Dean has spoken at length was when they discussed the town hall meeting with Sam, Jess, and Meg.

Apparently, the two suspects in the town hall shooting worked for Azazel Masters. Not that the police have advanced such a theory, though doing so wouldn’t be inconsistent with their modus operandi. Azazel is the only one of the criminal associates who has ever actually been charged with a crime, but he’s an expert at avoiding apprehension. In the few trials he has endured, he’s gotten off scot free. He always makes sure there’s no solid proof to connect him to any crime so that there’s room for reasonable doubt.

Meg, however, had recognized the two men as people employed by her father. Which means they were either rogue elements acting on their own, or they were ordered by Azazel to carry out the shooting. Meg doesn’t think they’d be the type to do anything on their own, but why would Azazel initiate the shooting? Has there been a rift between Azazel and Alastair? Meg hypothesizes Azazel would be doing more if that were the situation, but no other explanation for the incident makes sense.

And still, they’ve done a terrible job of collecting evidence. The whole point of everything is to get what they can to take down Alastair’s enterprise, to support Meg in a case against them, to refute the attempted murder accusation against her.

But now Gordon Walker’s death complicates everything.

Is that why Dean has been so aloof? Does he suspect something? But why would he?

Maybe Meg was right. Maybe he should’ve told Dean what’d happened. Keeping the secret is gnawing at him.

And the kiss with Meg—he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop feeling guilty for that.

Maybe Dean resents Meg’s presence.

Maybe Dean just suspects something is wrong, even if he has no idea what that might be.

He just wants Dean back. Maybe a gesture, something to appease him, would help.

Would spa tickets work? Dean would never confess it for fear that it’s unmanly, but he loves spa days. Unsurprising, considering how tactile he is.

Krissy interrupts his thoughts. “Dr. Novak?”

Castiel glances up at her. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

He frowns. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

She flushes. “It’s just. Um. You’ve been reading that page for like ten minutes.”

His face heats up. “Oh. I didn’t realize.” He forces himself to concentrate on Krissy’s paper and tune out all unrelated thoughts, at least for the time being.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When Dean returns from brushing his teeth for the night, he finds Cas standing in the opposite corner of the room, still fully dressed.

“Aren’t you gonna get ready for bed?” Dean asks.

“Dean,” Cas replies awkwardly. He pulls two tickets out of his pocket and holds them up. “What do you say to a spa trip this weekend?”

“Not interested,” Dean mutters. He turns around, presenting his back to Cas. Damn, does a spa day sound nice (though he’d never admit just how much he loves those). But Cas is still hiding stuff from him, and he’s not gonna let Cas distract him with gifts.

“Why are you acting like this?” Cas inquires.

“Like what?” Dean responds, facing Cas once again.

“You’ve been so—distant—lately. You won’t even let me touch you—”

Dean shrugs. “Just haven’t been in the mood for sexy times.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” Cas snaps. When his voice wavers, Dean knows the cold shoulder has finally broken Cas. “Please, Dean. Tell me what I did wrong . . . Is it because I brought Meg back? . . . You know she has nowhere else to go.—”

“It’s not that,” Dean interrupts. “Well, not exactly.”

“Then what is it?”

Dean takes a step toward Cas and declares, “I know you’re hiding something from me.”

Cas smiles nervously. “Where did you get that idea?”

Dean continues his advance on Cas, stopping just short of bracketing Cas against the wall. “You were always a terrible liar.”

Cas barks a short laugh. “I’m not lying.”

“Bullshit.” Dean pins Cas with the steely gaze he’s perfected, the one that always works. Cas cracks, a tell-tale blush spreading across his cheeks, his lips trembling.

“Okay.” Cas’s words come out in a rush. “IkissedMeg. I didn’t mean to—”

“What?!” Dean exclaims. He can’t have heard Cas right. No way he would’ve kissed Meg, that would mean—

It’s like he’s choking on his own heart. _Cas doesn’t love me anymore? Is that it? Is that what he’s been hiding from me?—_

“Dean, I didn’t mean to, please—” Cas babbles.

“Fuck,” Dean coughs. The room is shrinking around him.

“Dean. Breathe,” Cas beseeches.

White-hot rage replaces his panic. “Fuck you.” He wraps his hands around Cas’s neck and squeezes. Watching the light dim in those blue eyes gives him a grim satisfaction.

“What the hell’s going on in here!” Meg demands from the doorway. At the sound of the voice, Dean releases Cas, who sags against the wall. Fuck. How could he do that to Cas? His hands begin to shake. _Fucking terrible, piece of shit, Dean Winchester, you’re no better than Dad, you know that—_

Dean marches past Meg toward the kitchen, heading toward the sink. He can barely see through the moisture building in his eyes. Hands—he needs to do something with his hands. He turns on the tap, picks up a dish, and begins scrubbing. He hears approaching footsteps, but he ignores them.

“Dean—” Cas pleads.

“Get out,” Dean warns without turning around.

“Dean—”

“I said get out!” The front door opens and closes. Good. There’s no telling what Dean could do right now. He’s a monster; it’s a wonder Cas ever loved him in the first place—

“Dean,” a voice intones behind him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Meg standing beside him. He turns to her.

xxxxxxxxxxx

“What do you want?” Dean asks tonelessly. It’s dangerous when people speak like that. It’s how Dad would sound before a particularly violent mood. It scares her more than watching him attack Cas, but she’s resolved not to flinch. If he wants to intimidate her, he’s got another think coming.

“It really didn’t mean anything,” Meg explains. “It just happened, in the heat of the moment.—”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, you seduced him or some shit.—”

“I did not initiate it.” Hell if she’s gonna let Dean dump all the blame on her. “Really. It meant nothing. I would never . . . ” _Never like him like that, you mean? Liar. You do, and you know it._

Whatever. The best thing she can do for Cas is help mend the rift between him and Dean. So that’s what she’ll do.

“I don’t think of Cas in that way,” Meg continues. “And he wouldn’t think of me in that way, either.”

Dean chuckles darkly. “You don’t get it. If you’re telling the truth, if it was really Cas, there’s no damn way it didn’t mean anything.”

“It didn’t.”

Dean places another bowl in the dish drainer then focuses all his attention on her. She resists the urge to shrink. “You don’t know him like I do. There’s no way.—He wouldn’t kiss you unless he felt attracted to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not like you or me. He wouldn’t have the urge to have sex—or even kiss—someone unless he had feelings for them.”

Meg frowns. “I don’t understand. That’s not how biology works.”

“It’s not how _my_ biology works. But it’s his . . . Trust me, Cas and I talked a lot about this stuff.”

“Then what happened with me must’ve been an exception,” Meg concludes. Because there’s no way Cas could have feelings for her. First of all, no one with any sense would. But more importantly, he loves Dean. “Any idiot can see Cas is disgustingly in love with you.”

“Whatever,” Dean mumbles. He returns to the dishes.

“There’s something else you should know,” Meg announces. Cas has already told Dean half of their secret; Dean deserves to know the rest.

“Yeah?”

“Gordon Walker. He recognized me. He was going to take me back to Dad. When I tried to get away . . . he died.”

“You mean you killed him,” Dean says without even looking at her.

Fine, if that’s how he wants to put it. She’ll own it. “Yes.”

He scoffs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You knew?”

“I can put two and two together. Your face is a big clue.”

“My face? That’s actually from something different.”

“If you say so.”

“It is,” Meg insists. “Some guy wanted sexual favors for a ride. So I bit his dick.”

Dean releases an abbreviated guffaw before biting his bottom lip to stifle the laughter. “Sounds like you,” he mutters.

Why had she told Dean about biting the dude’s dick but not Cas? She doesn’t understand.

A tense silence fills the air. Meg feels rooted to the spot, and she watches Dean’s hands as they scrub each dish.

“I hate you,” Dean pronounces under his breath.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Dean needs some time to cool down, and Castiel understands. With nowhere else to go, he heads to the university and holes up in his office.

Only now does it occur to him that he probably shouldn’t have left him alone with Meg.

He tells himself that everything will be all right.

His neck still burns, but it’s because of the guilt. Dean hadn’t squeezed that hard. He should’ve shared the truth with Dean earlier. All this subterfuge, it’s just made the incident seem like a bigger deal than it was.

But the death of Gordon Walker. That really is a big deal. Meg was right. Keeping such a monumental secret from Dean had been a mistake. He’ll have to tell Dean once he returns home.

If Dean ever talks to him again.

Perhaps he’ll need to move out and take Meg with him.

If assisting Meg costs him his relationship with Dean, was it worth it?

No. Dean means too much to him. It’s selfish; it’s sinful. Deep down, he knows his parents had been right about him. He’s a coward, a liar . . . Mother would remind him that he belongs in hell. He winces as he recalls her burns.

His insides quake. He doesn’t think he can face the world, if Dean leaves him.

He covers his face with his hands and weeps. He must drift off; soon, he discovers that it’s almost four in the morning. He should return home. At the very least, he’ll need a change of clothes. He’ll try to apologize to Dean, but if Dean won’t listen . . . he’ll just have to attempt it later. He’s not losing Dean without a fight.

When he exits the building, he spots a woman sitting on a nearby bench. When he’s closer, he recognizes her.

“Ava?” he calls. She startles. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She turns to him with a smile. “It’s fine.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Dr. Novak.”

“My boyfriend and I had a fight.” He realizes he must be exhausted; there’s no other way he’d ever admit something so private to a student.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Castiel shrugs. “It happens.” If he makes the quarrel sound like a matter of course, it’ll render what he shared seem less intimate.

“I see.” She frowns. “My roommate . . . ” She looks embarrassed. “She has a guy over.”

“Ah.” He sympathizes. His sophomore roommate used to frequently bring home random women and engage in boisterous sex.

Ava glances at her watch. “I think I should be able to go home soon.”

“Good . . . Well. I shall see you in class tomorrow.”

“Yes, Dr. Novak. See you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: a shooting occurs, Dean learns about Cas kissing Meg and reacts violently (he'll apologize in the next chapter, though that of course doesn't make his behavior okay), Meg refers to how she'd reacted to a proposition while she was hitchhiking
> 
> If there's anything I neglected to mention, feel free to let me know, and I'll add it.
> 
> Cas is on the asexual spectrum, but his experiences aren't meant to represent those of everyone who identifies as such.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta-ed, and the rest of the fic probably will be, too.
> 
> Warnings at the end of the chapter. (They may contain spoilers.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are welcome and much appreciated. (I'd love to know what you think, especially since I'm often unsure if anyone is reading this.)

Castiel tiptoes into the apartment and through the living room, careful not to wake Meg. He feels around in the dark and keeps a hand on the wall as he traverses the hallway toward the bedroom. The door is shut, but light streams out through the cracks. Dean must be awake, then. For a minute, Castiel contemplates fleeing. He doesn’t know if he can handle facing Dean right now. But he’ll have to sooner or later, and he needs a change of clothes. More important, Dean deserves an apology.

Castiel slowly turns the doorknob, steps inside the room, and shuts the door. Nearby, Dean lays wide awake in a sleeping bag.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel ventures.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean grunts.

Castiel squints down at him. “Why are you on the floor?”

“The bed felt too empty.”

A lump forms in Castiel’s throat. He kneels beside Dean. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner, Dean. But I’m a coward.” Tears start to his eyes. Castiel doesn’t bother to wipe the moisture from his cheeks. “It’s just that I love you so much. I don’t want to lose you because of what I did.”

Dean gazes up at him, and God, he’s so beautiful, especially with those green eyes resting on him, the lack of judgment, how intensely they focus. He sighs, “Cas . . . ”

Castiel swipes at his eyes. “I don’t think I can bear losing you. Melodramatic as that sounds.”

Dean snorts, but there’s fondness in it. “Cas. You know I’m not much to lose.”

Castiel settles into a cross-legged position. “Don’t say that.”

“You know it’s true.”

Castiel’s heart always breaks when he hears Dean belittle his worth. “No. Definitely not.”

“I thought you’d finally realized it,” Dean mumbles. “Considering you’re, y’know. The way you are.” _Only attracted to people I care about, yes._ Dean fidgets with the zipper on his sleeping bag. “I thought maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”

Castiel interlaces his fingers with Dean’s, rubbing his boyfriend’s knuckles with a thumb. “I could never not want you. I think what happened with Meg must be an anomaly.” _I don’t have feelings for her. Right? Of course not. How could I, when Dean possesses so much of my heart._

“’M sorry, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel frowns. Why is Dean apologizing? “For what?”

“How I acted.”

Castiel’s eyes roam down the length of Dean’s body, tucked in the sleeping bag. “It was understandable.”

“That’s what I mean!” Dean exclaims. Castiel’s head jerks up, returning to Dean’s face. “I tried to fucking choke you. There’s no excuse for that. And I . . . ” _I’m a piece of shit. That’s what Dean’s thinking._

He squeezes Dean’s hand. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.” He kisses Dean’s hand. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let the ugly drive me away?”

“God, you’re perfect.”

He remembers the other secret he’s been keeping. “Far from it. There’s something else I didn’t tell you. Something worse.”

“Oh, yeah? Hit me.”

Castiel swallows. “When Meg was hitchhiking, she met one of her father’s associates. He recognized her, and in their struggle . . . he was killed.”

“Gordon Walker.”

Castiel does a double take. “You knew?”

“Sort of.” Dean smiles grimly. “That’s what I thought you were hiding from me, what I wanted you to tell me about. I saw it on the news. I knew it couldn’t be coincidence.”

“Oh.”

“You shouldn’t have listened to her, dude.”

“Pardon?”

“You shoulda told me. You know you can trust me with anything.”

Castiel snatches his hand out of Dean’s. “It wasn’t Meg’s idea. I’m the one who insisted on keeping it a secret. She didn’t agree.”

“Shit.”

Castiel can sense Dean’s anger rising again. He massages Dean’s wrist, attempting to soothe him. “I was afraid you wouldn’t let Meg stay if you knew.”

“Obviously, I’m not ecstatic about it. But I should know, considering we’re harboring her.”

He searches Dean’s countenance for any sign of uneasiness and finds none. Strange. “If you asked me to tell her to leave, I would.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes.” _I would feel guilty for it, but I’d do it for you. Anything for you._

Dean looks like he’s considering making such a request, and Castiel braces himself for what’s to come. They’d just retrieved Meg, and to make her leave now would be—“Nah,” Dean concludes.

“No?”

“We’re in too deep. And really, it ain’t her fault.”

“Hmm.” What about Sam and Jess? Should they be informed about Gordon Walker? If they remain ignorant, then they can’t be charged as accessories after the fact. But ethically, they do deserve to know.

Castiel’s head hurts. It’s too early in the morning to contemplate moral dilemmas.

He stretches out on the floor next to Dean and scoops Dean into his arms. Dean burrows back against him, the sleeping bag forming a border between their bodies. “I love you,” he whispers into Dean’s ear.

“Love you, too,” Dean breathes.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Ultimately, they decide not to tell Sam and Jess about Meg’s culpability in the death of Gordon Walker.

“But it’s the same thing I did to you,” Cas objects. “They’ve involved just as much as we are. We should keep our communications honest.”

“It’s not like we’re lying to them,” Dean argues. Cas narrows his eyes at him. “It’s just a strategic omission.”

“It’s still a lie.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Dean. How did you feel about me keeping such a secret?”

“Awful.”

“They would, too.”

“It’s different.”

“How so?”

“For one, I’m living with Meg, and I should know what’s going on in my own home. Plus, I knew where you’d picked Meg up from. Sam and Jess don’t.”

“They are assisting us with the investigation. They’re a still a part of everything, no matter what they know. Or don’t.”

“But they have plausible deniability. If we tell them, we add to what they can be charged with. If we’re found out.”

Cas sighs after a moment. “I suppose you are right,” he agrees reluctantly.

So that’s that. Which means Dean keeps mum about Gordon Walker next time he discusses the case with Sam.

Sam said he had some new intel, so Dean meets him at the office for lunch.

“Dude, shut the door,” Sam demands when Dean walks in.

Dean raises an eyebrow as he sits in a chair across from Sam and places his lunch bag on the desk. “You’re jumpy,” he comments.

While Dean digs a soda and BLT out of his paper bag, Sam explains, “It’s just I don’t know who we can trust.”

“Uh huh,” Dean mumbles as he chews, and Sam grimaces. “So, what’s the big news?”

“Remember Victor Henriksen?”

“The guy in charge of the raid at Crossroads?”

“Yeah. He’s taken the lead in the convention center shooting. Trying to find out if the men were acting on orders, stuff like that.”

Dean snorts. “Like he’ll get any straight answers on that question.” Or even try to. There’s a good chance Henriksen’s in the machinery’s pocket.

Then again, if there’s a feud between Azazel and Alastair, then Alastair would have reason to drag information out of the shooters.

“Okay,” Dean replies, waiting for Sam to go on.

“So. Get this. Apparently one of the guys was planning on giving a full confession, but before he could, he died in his cell under ‘mysterious circumstances.’”

“What?” Dean sputters. “When did this happen?”

“This morning.”

“Why wasn’t it on the news?”

“Detective Henriksen wants to keep it under wraps. See if someone knows more than the public does.”

“How come you know about this?”

“He told Ruby.”

“Ruby? Your colleague?” Sam nods. “And she told you? Why?”

“She wanted my advice.”

“For what?”

Sam runs a hand through his floppy hair. It’s a wonder Jess doesn’t make him get a haircut. “She and Detective Henriksen are building a case. Looking into the inner workings of the town.”

“Like us,” Dean responds.

“Yeah.”

“Why’d he go to her?”

“Everyone knows she once tried to build a case against Alastair.”

“And Detective Henriksen thinks Alastair was somehow involved in the shooting? Seems like quite a leap.” _Especially if he doesn’t know the things we do._

“He’s just trying to put the pieces together.” Sam shrugs. “I guess the shooting must be one of them.” He sighs. “If only Henriksen had come to me instead.”

“Why?”

“It could help us. Think about it. He’s doing the same thing we are—”

Sam’s voice rises in excitement, and Dean knows what it means. “No, Sam.”

“No, what? I didn’t ask anything.”

“You were getting there. We’re not going to confide in Detective Henriksen.”

“Why not?” Sam practically whines.

“Because. We don’t know if we can trust him.”

“But, Dean. Considering he went to Ruby, I think he’s sincere.”

“Remember what you told me before about him?”

“What?”

“He left the Dallas PD under a cloud of suspicion. For bribery.” _What if this whole thing is a setup? What if Ruby and Henriksen are part of a vast conspiracy to pry into our lives because Azazel has become suspicious of us? What if—?_

_Calm down, Dean. You’re getting paranoid. Don’t think like Dad._

“Oh. You’re right.” Sam clears his throat. “I guess caution doesn’t hurt.”

As Dean swallows the last bite of his BLT, his cell phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and scans the message. “Dammit.”

“What?” Sam responds.

“Ash texted. Says we’re off for the rest of the day; it looks like there’s some bad weather on the radar.” He stows his phone back in his pocket. “Which means we’ll have to come in on one of our off days.”

“It’s better than working during a thunderstorm and risking your life.”

“Ah, it’s fine out there.” When had Dean entered the courthouse, the sun had been shining brightly.

He and Sam exchange goodbyes, and Dean heads outside after tossing his trash into a can. Now, dark clouds hover above. Funny how quick the weather can change.

As he’s driving home, a weather alert pops up on his phone. Tornado warning. Shit. He races through the streets to the apartment complex. By the time he arrives, the wind’s whipped up something fierce. When he steps out of the Impala, it feels like he’s gonna blow the fuck away. He struggles toward the stairway but stops short when he notices someone else outside.

Meg.

With the wind, her hair flies every which way, and her eyes sparkle with determination. For a second, Dean can’t help but admire her harsh ethereal beauty.

Then an especially powerful gust socks him on the cheek.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Dean shouts.

“Leaving,” Meg replies.

Damn if her light tone doesn’t make him want to slap her. “Are you fucking insane? Get back inside,” he yells.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Make me.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

Now that Dean knows everything, the atmosphere changes. Dean and Cas barely speak to Meg anymore. She’s surprised at how painful the situation becomes.

Obviously, she’s just a burden here. The rift between Dean and Cas has mended, but she can’t help but feel guilty and ashamed for staying with them. She’s caused enough damage, interfered enough in their relationship.

But if she leaves, she believes Cas really would come after her again. He’s the sort who keeps his promises.

If she flees again, she might need to fake her death.

Or maybe not. Maybe, it could be real. She was ready to lose her life the night she defied Dad and Alastair. For fuck’s sake, she doesn’t want to die, but what does she have to live for? What happens when she’s recognized again by someone like Gordon Walker?

She’ll take nothing with her this time and see where the path takes her.

Damn, it’s windy outside. That doesn’t deter her, though. Not long after she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she encounters a familiar figure.

Dean. _Shit. What’s he doing here?_ At least it’s just Dean. He’d probably love to have her gone.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Dean snarls.

Might as well let the cat out of the bag. “Leaving.” _That makes you happy, doesn’t it?_

But Dean doesn’t break out into a grin. Instead, his expression grows stormy. “Are you fucking insane?” he hurls. “Get inside.”

Oh, is he gonna play the alpha male now? If he thinks he can boss her around, he’s got another think coming. “Make me.”

The wind chooses that time to knock her sideways. Dean catches her, like she’s some kind of idiotic damsel in distress. She opens her mouth to tell him she doesn’t need his help, thanks, but when she does, hair flies into her mouth. She spits it out.

Dean drags her toward the stairs and tries to pull her up. “C’mon, I can’t carry you,” Dean grunts.

Meg extricates herself from his grasp. “I’m not coming.” The wind buffets her again, and she catches herself on the railing.

“You stubborn bitch.”

“Great sales pitch.”

“Whatever. If you’re gonna be that way.” He wraps his arms around her and manhandles her up the stairs. She’s actually kind of impressed by his strength and stamina, though she’d never admit it, especially not to Dean.

“I thought you weren’t carrying me,” Meg snips.

“Shut up,” Dean huffs as he unlocks the door and shoves her inside. He slams the door shut, locks it, and leans back, regarding her. “There’s a tornado warning,” Dean rasps. As if on cue, the city’s tornado sirens begin blaring.

“So?” Meg responds, brushing aside the hair strewn across her face.

“So? It’s fucking dangerous.”

Interesting. He’s not saying he doesn’t want her to leave, just that he doesn’t wish for her to get hurt. Despite herself, she’s a little touched that he cares. _Am I actually softening toward him because of_ basic human decency _? I set the bar low, don’t I?_

_Remember. He despises you._

“Good. Maybe it’ll blow me away, and you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Why not? It’d be the best thing for everyone, right?”

“Not for you.”

“Aw, I didn’t think you cared,” she mocks.

“Stop that.”  

She’s surprised at the vehemence in his voice “Why? I’m just telling the truth. It’s better if I go.”

“Not in this.”

“So you agree.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I can read between the lines.” Dean remains silent, so Meg barrels on. “I can go once the warning’s over.”

“Cas would search for you. Desperately.”

“I know. Which means you’ve gotta help me.”

“Help you how?”

“I need some ideas. Ways to make it seem like I’m dead.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.” She frowns. “Of course, the best way to make it look like I’m dead is to be dead.” She nods to herself. “Either way, the storm’s the perfect cover.” Her eyes meet Dean’s. “Get out of the way. I need to go back out there.”

“You really are insane,” Dean marvels.

She smirks. “Never said I wasn’t.” She strides up to the door, but Dean doesn’t budge. “Move.”

“No.”

She attempts to push Dean aside, but he’s solid as stone. “Get out of the fucking way.”

“No can do. Not with that suicidal talk you’re throwing around.”

“Like you care.”

“I do.”

“I didn’t ask for your lies. Or your pity.”

“It’s not a lie,” Dean says, so softly Meg almost doesn’t hear him.

Meg puts her hands on her hips. “No? I guess that’s why you told me you hated me.”

“I was angry. People do stupid shit when they’re angry.”

“I’ve served my purpose with you and Cas. All I’m doing now is putting you in danger. How about this? I’ll turn myself in for Gordon Walker’s death. Then I’m out of everyone’s hair.”

“Yeah, great plan. ’Cause you wouldn’t die in an ‘accident’ like that convention center shooter.”

“What’re you talking about?” _It’s true; I probably would die in custody. I was hoping he wouldn’t pick up on that. But what’s this about the convention center shooting?_

Dean shakes his head. “Never mind.” He gazes down at her, eyes wide and earnest. They really are a mesmerizing shade of green. “Just. Stay,” he croaks.

Then his hands grasp her shoulders, and she’s shoved against the wall. He’s so close to her now, she feels just the barest hint of his body against hers. She doesn’t know who surges forward, or if it’s both of them, but their lips meet. With the kiss, it feels like Dean is giving, not taking, like he wants her to enjoy it, too. Her hands grip Dean’s leather jacket, and its texture burns itself into her skin.

_What the hell is this?_

She pushes Dean away. Caught off balance, he stumbles halfway across the room. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asks coldly.

He looks lost, his disheveled hair only adding to the impression. “I don’t know,” he rumbles.

She scoffs. “Right.” Had it been an attempt to distract her? To assert his will? To _dominate_? She should’ve known. Men always want to rule the roost.

He plops down on the sofa and clutches his forehead. “I really don’t.”

“Sure. Like you weren’t trying to use it to get me to do what you want. Overpower me.”

Dean raises his head sharply. “What? No! I’d never do that.” To his credit, he doesn’t mention Meg had participated in the kiss just as much as he had.

So far, she’s just been tolerating Dean, and now she’s kissing him?

What the hell?

But why would Dean kiss her? He’s besotted with Cas. Shit, he’d been heartbroken when Cas had kissed her. Why do the same himself?

Lightning flashes outside, and the lights go out.

“Great,” Dean mutters.

Meg guesses she should sit down. She carefully navigates the room, relying on bursts of lightning along the way. She settles in the armchair and faces Dean, dimly making out his figure in the dark.

“What are you doing back, anyway?” Meg asks. She knows it’s a dumb question, a lame attempt to avoid the elephant in the room.

Dean snorts. “What do you think?” An uneasy silence follows. Meg doesn’t know how to break it. She has no idea what to make of Dean. He’s been acting like a bastard toward her since day one. Understandably, Cas’s kiss and Gordon Walker’s death have only increased his animosity. So what the fuck had been that kiss? Maybe he was trying to comprehend what Cas had found so tempting. She releases a hysterical laugh at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Dean inquires.

“Nothing.” She sobers. “This situation is just so damn absurd.”

In the shadows, she catches a fleeting smile on Dean’s face. “Yeah.” It’s quiet once more. She focuses on the rhythm of the heavy rain outside. Eventually, Dean speaks. “Y’know, I don’t really hate you.” She has to strain to hear his voice over the storm.

“Maybe you should,” Meg observes.

“I don’t think so.” Rubbing his neck, he sighs. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk to you.”

The words startle her. Of all things, she never would’ve expected Dean to apologize. “Thank you.”

“I do care if something happens to you.” He sounds nervous, vulnerable, even. She’s lived with Dean long enough to know that leaving himself so exposed requires enormous effort. “And not just because I’m worried about how Cas would feel. I—” The lights flicker back on just long enough for her to notice Dean lick his lips. They really are pretty, fitting perfectly with his delicate, almost feminine, facial features. No wonder he sometimes puts up a tough guy act. His voice becomes stern. “You can’t pull that disappearing act again. Got it?”

“Okay.”

The lights return, this time for good. The intensity of the rain lessens. “I have to tell Cas,” Dean mentions. “About how I . . .”

“The kiss.” Dean winces at the words. “Yes.” She reaches across the space between them and pats his hand. “It’ll be fine.”

But she’s afraid it might not be. Then again, Cas has to forgive Dean, right? Anything else would be hypocritical.

God, she’s fucked up a beautiful relationship. She can only hope Cas and Dean can handle the mess.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The incident with Meg had fucked with Dean’s head. His behavior had contradicted his feelings about Meg. Or what he’d thought were his feelings. He remembers how panicked he’d felt when he’d spotted Meg outside. Not just because she could’ve blown their cover or Cas would search for her again; he’d been afraid she might get hurt. Or worse.

Meg had just acted so damn frustrating, throwing his concern back in his face. Then he’d realized Meg’s sarcasm hadn’t been just for the hell of it; she actually believed what she’d been spouting.

So like a moron, he’d kissed her.

She’d kissed him back, and damn, she was good. But despite that, she’d pushed him away. He’d cursed himself. What the hell had he been thinking? Her response, the kiss, had probably been instinct. For much of her life, she’s submitted to the demands of johns, feigning enthusiasm. Her life had depended on it.

His stomach roiled at the realization. He hated himself for triggering Meg back into that mindset.

Shit, how had he developed feelings for Meg? Because he understands it now. All his contempt had been a veil thrown up by his subconscious. When push came to shove, his true feelings had come out.

So. He cares about her, differently than he would for a friend. But he still loves Cas just as fiercely as ever.

Now he gets how Cas must feel. Dean knows Cas, and Cas wouldn’t have kissed Meg if he didn’t possess feelings for her. But that doesn’t mean he’s lost any of his love for Dean.

Once the tornado warning expires (thank God the tornado had missed the apartment complex), Dean and Meg fall into an easy rhythm. It’s still raining outside, so Dean decides to cook. Meg helps him prepare the ingredients for a beef stew and toss them into the Crockpot; then they work on au gratin potatoes. They even have enough time to bake an apple pie.

Meg seems to enjoy assisting Dean with the tasks. God, staring at the TV all the time must get boring. They’ve got some boxes of books in the storage space downstairs; maybe Meg would like to dig through them.

“What’s the occasion?” Cas asks when he arrives home and notices the spread for the meal.

Dean shrugs. “We just had nothing else to do.”

He dreads the conversation he and Cas need to have tonight. He can’t delay informing Cas about the kiss. He owes it to him. After experiencing the other side of that conversation, he knows it’s necessary.

But still. He doesn’t know how to begin.

He waits until they’re getting ready for bed.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Standing in front of the dresser, Castiel strips down to his undershirt and boxers. He rummages through a drawer, pulls out a new set to change into, and lays the items on top of the dresser. He grips the hemline of his shirt as he turns to face Dean. He’s about to tug it off, but his fingers slip off the cloth when he notices Dean perched on the edge of the bed.

“Do you not wish to prepare for bed?” Castiel inquires.

Dean grins ironically, as if laughing at an inside joke with himself. “We need to talk.”

Castiel sits on the bed beside Dean. This close, Dean’s eyes shine with an uncertain light. His bottom lip trembles minutely. Castiel snatches at Dean’s hand and squeezes. “What’s wrong?”

Dean emits a desperate chuckle. “God, this is so fucked up.”

Castiel’s stomach sinks at the words. “What is it?”

Dean yanks his hand out of Castiel’s and scratches the side of his neck. “I kissed Meg.”

Well. This is a cruel prank. He glares at Dean. “That’s not funny, Dean.”

“What?” Dean pauses, his brow wrinkled in thought. When realization hits him, he declares, “No, Cas, this isn’t a joke.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean, who squirms. Why is he carrying on this pretense? “Dean, I understand you were hurt by my actions. Perhaps you would like me to experience how you felt. I understand the impulse. But this is not appropriate.”

“Dammit, Cas, I’m serious!”

The statement takes a minute for Castiel to process, but once he does, he’s convinced of Dean’s honesty. He sounds so earnest. “Oh,” Castiel exhales. “Why?”

Dean shrugs. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you . . . ” How should he phrase the question? “Are you attracted to Meg?”

Dean sighs. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”

Castiel meets Dean’s eyes. He must confess the truth. No matter how much it may hurt either or both of them. Loving Dean demands nothing less. “I think I might have feelings for Meg.” His heart lurches at the statement. He knows he’s been lying to himself until now; his fondness for Meg does transcend friendship.

Dean’s mouth forms a grim smile. “I know you do.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispers. More loudly, he proclaims, “I do love you, Dean. As much as ever.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Dean envelops Castiel’s hand with his own. “I love you, too. That’s why we must acknowledge whatever this . . . thing . . . is with Meg. We need to figure out how we’re going to handle it.”

Castiel nods. He’s mulling over how he should reply when the door bursts open. He flinches.

“Talking about me, boys?” Meg throws out, smirking in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: suicidal talk, potential infidelity (Dean kisses Meg, but the fic is a Meanstiel story, so ymmv.)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long to update. I meant to post the latest chapter two weeks or so ago, but then family matters came up. I'll post the next update when I can, hopefully sooner rather than later.
> 
> Warnings for sexual content (the first half of the chapter contains a threesome between Dean, Cas, and Meg), dubcon probably closer to noncon (there's a flashback to Meg's first time as a prostitute with Alastair, which Azazel forced her into). If there's something else you think I should've warned for, please let me know, and I'll add it.
> 
> This chapter is unbeta-ed, and it's my first time writing a sex scene involving three people, so I hope it makes sense.
> 
> Comments and kudos are welcome and much appreciated. Thanks to everyone who's read and subscribed so far!

“Talking about me, boys?” Meg utters as she barges into the bedroom. She infuses her voice with more bravado than she feels. The men spend a long minute gaping at her.

“Don’t you knock?” Dean finally responds.

Meg rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I’m interrupting anything.”

“How do you know?” he snaps.

Meg ignores him and turns to Cas. “Did Dean tell you he kissed me?” She’s not gonna let Dean pull any of that bullshit, keeping secrets like Cas had. It’d just ratchet up the tension once again. Sure, Dean had said he would tell Cas about it, but he seemed like the type to chicken out. Before they can move on, they need to get everything out in the open.

“Yes,” Cas answers.

She eyes Dean. “I’m impressed.” She ignores the scowl Dean shoots her way. “Good. So, obviously, things are a little awkward . . . ”

“Understatement of the year,” he scoffs under his breath.

“So, what I think is . . . we should all pretend like it never happened.” God knows she doesn’t want to ruin the relationship between Dean and Cas. If they forget about the kisses, things can return to how they were before she’d run off. Then as soon as if they’ve gathered solid evidence about Dad and his cronies, they can turn everything over to the FBI or whoever, and Meg can get out of their hair.

A loud silence follows until Dean shatters the tense equilibrium. “What if I don’t want to?”

Cas does a double take, and Meg’s heart drops. This is it. Dean hates her, and he’s gonna toss her out onto the street. This, even though mere hours earlier, he’d insisted she stay. And she didn’t even do anything. It was all Dean and Cas, the assholes. Shit always ends up this way. Men punishing her for things they did.

Cas’s eyes meet Dean’s, and an understanding passes between them. Meg’s not sure what it means. Cas turns to her and declares, “I agree with Dean.”

“Oh,” she exhales, feeling as if a punch has landed in her gut. “Okay. If that’s how it is.” Why does she sound so damn whiny and pitiful? “I’ll be gone in the morning.”

Cas’s expression grows panicked. “No, that’s not—” he starts just as Dean growls, “You promised you wouldn’t leave again.” The stony expression on his face makes him look dangerous, and she recoils.

“I don’t understand,” she says.

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand then stands up. “We don’t want you to leave.”

“Then what _do_ you want?”

Cas advances toward her deliberately. She leans against the doorjamb, wary. He stops only inches away. “Haven’t you ever heard of personal space?” she gripes.

Rather than answering, he leans in, plants a hand on her shoulder, and places a chaste kiss on her lips.

Is she dreaming? Because this shit doesn’t make any sense. “What are you doing?”

“Dean and I both like you,” Cas explains. Dean nods from the bed. As Cas continues, his words come out in a frightened rush. “And we . . . we would like to explore these feelings with you. If you are amenable.”

Dean hops to his feet and approaches her, stopping halfway between the doorway and the bed. “Only if you want to,” Dean emphasizes, his eyes wide and solemn. “It’s not a condition for staying.”

“No,” Cas echoes.

“You can stay as long as you need. If you—” Dean swallows. “If you say no, we will never mention it again. We will never make a move on you again. We promise.”

“We take our promises seriously,” Cas interjects.

She believes them. If she’s learned anything about them, it’s that they’re both men of their word.

She admits, she is curious about what they’re like in bed. In fact, hadn’t she fantasized about it once? Her face heats up at the memory.

Accepting their proposition would change everything. And—“What if . . . what if I want out?” Meg wonders.

“That is your prerogative. If you refuse, once you no longer consent, we shall never bring it up again,” Cas avows.

“Then what’re you waiting for?” she retorts, hoping her tone contains no trace of the nervousness she feels. She strides toward Dean, grips his shoulders, and brushes her lips over his.

“You’re sure?” Dean whispers against her lips.

“Yes,” she sighs. She runs her tongue over Dean’s lips, and they open. His tongue massages hers, and she falls into the kiss. It resembles the one from earlier, in the afternoon, yet it’s more intense. Not a rough kind of intense. It’s . . . considerate.

Cas has migrated over, and Meg transfers one hand to Cas’s shoulder. He pecks at the corner of her mouth, even as she continues kissing Dean. Other than Dean and Cas, no one’s ever kissed her like this before . . . like they care about her response. Then again, the only other people she’s ever kissed were clients. It was all business. Never pleasurable, not for her, but this—she expects pleasure. She wants to know what it’s like, to actually _enjoy_ sex. How will it compare with masturbating?

Dean’s tongue retreats, and his lips move to the right of hers. Cas’s lips slide to the left. Then Cas’s lips, by themselves, capture hers, and Dean trails pecks from above her lips up to her cheekbone. How did they coordinate their movement so well?

All thought flees once Cas’s tongue pushes into her mouth. He tastes _divine_. He lets her set the pace, and she tangles her tongue around his. As his body lists closer toward her, she feels his erection against her thigh, through his boxers. She traces over Dean’s thigh up to his crotch, just to check, and sure enough, he’s hard, too.

She jerks out of Cas’s kiss, cups a hand over each man’s balls, and squeezes. Cas releases a dreamy sigh, and Dean groans. “Hot for me already, boys?” Dean glowers at her, while Cas just gawks. She grabs the waistband of Cas’s boxers and places the other hand on the zipper of Dean’s jeans. “Let’s get these off.” She yanks down Cas’s boxers and unzips Dean’s pants. When she’s finished, she shoves Dean’s jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion. She tugs at the men’s shirts and raises her eyebrows.

Cas automatically tears off his undershirt, but Dean gripes, “Oh, you think you can tell us what to do, huh? Without saying a word?” She stares at him, and it works. He unbuttons his shirt, drops it to the floor, and hurls the undershirt in a random direction. She places a hand on each man’s chest and shoves them toward the bed, where they fall on their backs.

Dean curls a hand on the hem of Meg’s blouse. “Kinda unfair, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“We’re stark freakin’ naked here, and you’re . . . ”

“Fully clothed,” Cas finishes.

She grins, and the men’s eyes widen. She’s got all the power here, and she likes it. “We’ll worry about that later, boys.” She settles on the floor and studies the men’s legs. Cas’s are thinner, but his thighs and calves are more well-toned than Dean’s. Not that Dean’s build isn’t impressive, by any means. His dick isn’t as long as Cas’s, but it’s thicker. She runs a hand up their calves, up to their inner thighs. Cas trembles underneath her hand. She ghosts her fingertips over their slits. She hears Cas’s sharp intake of breath, and the fine tremor of his muscles intensifies.

“Fuckin’ tease,” Dean grumbles.

She strokes over Cas’s dick, and he moans. Already, a dollop of precum bubbles up. God, he’s easy.

Dean raises his head halfway, focusing on Meg’s hand on him. “What about me?”

“That’s what you get for complaining,” Meg retorts.

“Hmph.”

“Kiss him.” Will they let her call the shots?

Dean smiles. “Gladly.” He scoots toward Cas. He plants a filthy kiss on Cas’s lips. Cas groans, opening his mouth to allow Dean’s tongue in. Their tongues duel; it’s like they’re trying to devour each other.

Fuck, that’s hot.

Dean reaches over and rubs over Cas’s shaft, upward, and Meg continues her ministrations downward. Meg dares to lick over the length of Cas’s dick. Dean’s eyes meet hers over Cas’s shoulder, and she nods. Cas whines when Dean pries his lips away from Cas’s. Dean crouches down next to Meg and licks his own stripe along Cas’s member. From bottom to top, back to bottom, where his lips clamp over the tip and he suckles. Meg grasps the top of Cas’s dick and works over it while Dean takes Cas farther down his throat.

“God,” Cas exhales, tossing his head left and right. The skin over his chest is flushed. Without removing her hand from Cas’s dick, she climbs onto the bed. Dean’s lips graze Meg’s fingertips, signaling that he’s taken Cas even deeper. Cas hips thrust frantically. She glances down at Dean, who looks as if he may choke. She squeezes a hand over Cas’s hip, steadying his motion. She gazes down at Cas’s chest and bites the nipple closest to her. He thrashes at the contact. When she bites the other nipple, his hips grow desperate.

“Fuck,” Cas whispers. “Dean, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Dean mumbles.

Meg watches as Cas spills into Dean’s mouth. Dean guzzles the spunk, though stray droplets land on his mouth and ring his lips.

Cas pulls Dean up and licks Dean’s face clean before stealing an open-mouthed kiss. “I can taste myself on your tongue,” Cas grits out.

Okay, now _that_ is hot.

A sharp spike of heat rushes to her groin. She needs something inside her. She fumbles with the button of her jeans, and after she manages to unzip them, she can’t remove them and her panties fast enough. Both men’s eyes are glued to her, and that just makes her wetter. After she loses her blouse and bra, Dean’s eyes rake over her from head to toe. Cas’s hazy blue eyes scan her body more slowly.

She lays on her side, props her chin on her hand, and faces the boys. “Dean,” she calls. “Kiss me.”

Dean crawls toward her, and they lock lips. She insinuates her tongue into his mouth, and yes, she can taste Cas on him. She clambers to her knees and shoves Dean onto his back. She straddles Dean and turns to Cas. “Is this all right?” she asks him.

Cas releases a shaky breath. She reaches over to kiss him. Damn, they’re both great kissers. Unlike anyone she’s ever kissed before. Maybe it’s because they actually give a shit about her enjoying it, not like she’s some tool who exists solely to fulfill their desires.

“Cas, get me a condom,” she demands when she pulls back.

Cas digs in the drawer on his side of the bed, finds a condom, and tosses it toward her. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, she addresses Dean. “I’m gonna ride you.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Dean sighs, green eyes glazed with lust.

“Here,” Cas says as he hurls a bottle of lube toward her. “You might want this.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Meg bites back. “But I’m a whore. I don’t need that shit.”

Cas clasps her wrist, and Dean smoothes a hand over her hip. “That doesn’t define you, Meg,” Cas assures her gently.

Dean’s hand stills, his grip tight enough to leave imprints of his fingertips. “No,” Dean snarls, his eyes hard. “If that’s what this is, if you think this is just your fuckin’ _job_ —”

“Isn’t it?” Meg doesn’t know why she’s acting like this, because she doesn’t believe the accusation. Quite the opposite. But she knows what she is, and she’s not gonna sugarcoat it to herself, Dean, or Cas.

Dean sits up and scoots back against the pillows, expression wounded. “Then I— _we_ —don’t want this.”

She inserts a finger inside herself and releases an exaggerated high-pitched moan. “You don’t want to see what’s so enticing about this pussy?”

“Stop it, Meg,” Cas admonishes in a low voice. He’s quiet, but that just makes his anger all the more intimidating. “That’s not what Dean and I meant when we said we wanted to include you. It’s more than that. Sex doesn’t even have to be on the table.”

“Doesn’t it?” Meg taunts. “Isn’t that why we jumped to the X-rated shit?”

Cas looks horrified. “We didn’t have to.”

Shit, now she’s ruined it. She needs to come, and she still wants to know how Dean would feel. She snatches at Dean’s dick and hurriedly fits the condom onto his length. After lathering it with lube, she angles it toward her vagina and rises to her knees. “Now,” she intones. “I will ride you, Dean.”

“No,” Dean croaks.

She quirks an eyebrow. “No?” She flicks her fingers at his engorged penis. “But you’re so aroused.”

“Not if that’s all this is.”

“If what’s all this is?”

“The fucking, dammit!”

Meg tsks. “But you don’t even like me that much, Dean. We both know you just wanna get laid.”

“You’re being unfair to Dean,” Cas intones disapprovingly.

“I’m not just a meat stick,” Dean argues.

“Whatever.” Meg raises her pelvis and positions herself over him. He’s poised to roll away. She notices a tear suspended on his eyelid. She’s gone too far. They’re both, even Dean, so sincere about this, and she’s made a mockery of it. With an index finger, she swipes at the tear. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, closing her eyes to suppress the moisture building there. “It’s more than sex for me, too.” Her eyes flit to Cas. “I promise.”

She turns back to Dean. “Ready?” Dean nods. She lowers herself onto his dick, slowly. When he’s fully seated, she takes a deep breath. Her eyes meet Cas’s, and his breath hitches. His member twitches, but it’s too spent to display more interest than that. “Like that, Clarence?” she teases. He nods.

Dean bucks underneath her. She glowers at him. “Don’t move. I’ll do it.”

“Then get on with it, goddammit,” Dean rasps.

Her thighs burn as she pushes herself up. She sinks back down on his dick slowly. She does it again, taking her time, getting used to the feel of Dean inside her. Up and down, maintaining the languorous pace.

“Could you go any slower?” Dean complains.

So she does. Up, then down. Finally, even she can’t take this sluggish pace. She speeds up, sighing as she maneuvers Dean into the ideal spot. Her moves gradually grow more frantic. Apparently unable to help himself, Dean thrusts up. A whine escapes her throat, but she stills anyway. “I told you not to move,” she scolds.

“C’mon, you know you liked it,” Dean grits out.

“That’s beside the point.” She clamps a hand to his stomach. “If you try that again, I’m getting off.”

Dean smirks. “Seems like you’re doing that regardless.” Meg flushes. Of course, Dean’s mind would automatically jump to a dirty interpretation.

“But you won’t be,” Meg huffs.

“I know how to rub one out.”

“But you’ll have to do it without me.”

“You think you’re so hot, huh?”

She winces, his words reminding her of just how much her body has functioned as a commodity.

“Dean,” Cas warns softly. His eyes meet Meg’s, questioning. Apparently, he’s caught on to her discomfort.

“Whatever. Let’s get this over with,” Meg tells Dean.

“That’s the spirit,” Dean replies, mouth twisted in what appears to be fond irony.

She concentrates on her own sensations, Dean’s grunts underneath only increasing her pleasure. She’s so close, but she needs more. “Touch me,” she commands, grabbing Dean’s hand and bringing it to her breast. She’s fully seated, and Dean squeezes. God, that’s divine. But—“More.” She eyes Cas. “You, too, Clarence.”

Cas raises a tentative hand to her left breast. He pinches her nipple, and oh, fuck. She follows instinct, riding Dean’s cock like she’s in a damn rodeo. Cas twists her nipple again just as Dean opens his mouth wide and sucks on her breast. She slams down, Dean’s shaft sliding as far inside as it can fit. All three sensations together overwhelm her, and she comes. She tosses her head back and releases an unrestrained moan. It’s the hardest she’s come in quite some time.

Dean snatches his mouth off of her breast. “Jesus, fuck,” he mutters. He pulses inside her then collapses onto his back, sated.

Meg climbs off of Dean and falls on the bed next to him. Cas reaches over Meg, pries off the condom, ties it off, and throws it at the trash can. With that accomplished, he settles onto the bed and draws the blanket over their sweaty bodies. Meg and Dean pant as they come down. Cas wraps an arm around Meg’s shoulders, grasps Dean’s right shoulder, and urges their bodies toward himself. Once they’re in place, he lays his head on Meg’s shoulder while he massages Dean’s shoulder.

Meg contemplates what’d just happened among them. God, it’s so surreal. Is she really not dreaming?

It’s the first time she’s come, outside of masturbation. All because Dean and Cas actually gave a fuck if she enjoyed herself.

She closes her eyes and drifts off, heart warmed by the two men surrounding her.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Dean jerks awake at the sound of his phone. “Fuck,” he whispers as he reaches for the phone. It’s a text from Ash. Apparently the weather forecast looks so bleak he shouldn’t bother going to the construction site today.

“What the hell was that?” Meg grumbles beside him.

“My phone,” Dean answers.

“No shit. Why? It can’t even be five yet.”

“Six.”

“What?”

“It’s six.”

“What kind of moron texts you at six in the morning?”

“My boss.”

On the other side of Meg, Cas stirs. “What’s going on?” he slurs.

“I don’t have work today,” Dean replies.

“Oh.” Cas closes his eyes and leans onto Meg’s shoulder.

Only now does Dean begin to truly process what’d occurred last night. He and Cas had a threesome. With Meg.

He sure hadn’t seen that coming. Until the confrontation with Meg yesterday, he didn’t even think he liked her, let alone wanted to sleep with her. Why would he? He loves Cas.

But now he understands how Cas must’ve felt, because he feels it, too. He cares for Meg, and he’s interested in pursuing a relationship with her, but his love for Cas is just as fierce as ever.

He has no idea where they’ll go from here. Will last night wind up just being a one-time thing? Does Meg regret it? Dammit, he’s gotta dispel his anxiety somehow.

Dean eyes Meg and smirks. “So. That the best fuck you ever had or what?”

From the other side of Meg, Cas swats Dean’s shoulder. “I apologize for my boyfriend’s crudeness,” he tells Meg.

Meg shrugs. “I’ve heard worse.”

Cas lumbers to his feet, and Dean takes a minute to appreciate his naked body. The meaty thighs, the lean and tautly muscled chest, the handsome face and intensely blue eyes. Fuck, he’s so not ready for Cas to go yet. He reaches across Meg and grabs Cas’s wrist. “Come back,” he murmurs.

“What, you want to cuddle like a freakin’ girl?” Meg derides. But she contradicts her words by nestling her head on the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean rolls his eyes.

“I have class, Dean,” Cas replies.

“So? Call in sick,” Dean demands.

“I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

“One more time won’t hurt.”

Cas eyes the bed longingly before picking up his cell phone from the bedside table. After he dials the number, he says, “Hello? This is Castiel Novak . . . Yes, I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it today. I’m currently indisposed.” _Indisposed?_ Meg mouths to Dean before giggling. Dean can’t help but laugh himself, because yeah, Cas’s word choice is amusing. Cas glares at them. When he hangs up the phone, he declares, “I hope they didn’t hear you.”

“Who cares if they know you’re playing a little hooky?” Dean counters. He and Meg each tug at one of Cas’s wrists until he tumbles onto the bed. Dean shoves the pillows off the bed, crawls above the other two, cups Cas’s face, and kisses him. “Isn’t this a lot better than class?” he mutters against Cas’s lips. He strokes a hand over Cas’s shoulder down to his elbow. Cas sighs and rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. Dean gradually lowers them to the bed until they lay supine with Meg. Dean likes this position much better, where both Cas’s and Meg’s bodies brush against his.

It’s peaceful, just laying together like this. But eventually the pressure on Dean’s bladder proves too much, and he slides out of bed.

“Where’re you going?” Cas murmurs, clutching Dean’s wrist.

“Gotta take a piss,” Dean replies.

After Dean flushes the toilet, his stomach rumbles. When he returns to the bedroom, he asks, “Who’s up for pancakes?”

“Sounds delicious,” Meg answers.

Meg and Cas follow him to the kitchen and sit at the table while Dean pulls out all the supplies for cooking pancakes.

“Any special requests?” Dean calls as he starts putting together the batter.

“Yeah. Give me a chocolate chip smiley face,” Meg says sarcastically.

Dean rolls his eyes but pulls out the bag of chocolate chips anyway. “Cas, you want blueberries?”

“Yes, please.”

Dean snorts at Cas’s politeness, but he can’t keep his lips from forming a fond grin.

Behind him, he hears Cas declare, “Blueberry pancakes are my favorite.”

Dean fries up some eggs and bacon to go with the pancakes and carries the plates to the table. After he brings the butter and syrup, he catches Meg staring at her pancakes with amazement.

“What?” Dean prompts as he settles into the chair across from Cas.

“You actually did it,” Meg marvels.

“What? The smiley face?”

“Yeah.”

Dean’s face heats up. “Well. You asked for it.”

Dean likes his pancakes plain, with oodles of butter and syrup. After drenching his pancakes with syrup, he digs in.

“So,” Meg begins, mouth full. Dean grimaces, because that shit is disgusting. “What was this about an ‘accident’ with one of the convention center shooters?”

“What?” Cas sputters.

“Yeah. I meant to tell you guys, but we got . . . distracted,” Dean explains.

“That’s one word for it,” Meg mutters.

“Um. So. I talked to Sam yesterday, and he said Detective Henriksen told Ruby one of the shooters died in jail. Supposedly, it was an accident, but the shooter was about to give up everything.”

“That’s no accident.”

“No shit.”

“Why wasn’t this on the news?” Cas asks.

“Sam said Detective Henriksen is keeping it secret so it won’t compromise his investigation.”

“Then why does Ruby know?”

“Henriksen and Ruby are working together.”

“We can’t trust either of them,” Meg proclaims.

“Sam wants to.”

Meg pales. “He’s not gonna spill to them is he?”

“Hell no.”

“Thanks for the update, Dean. It’s good to know,” Cas remarks.

“Yeah.” Dean sighs. “But I feel like we’re getting nowhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“We still haven’t actually collected any solid evidence. Don’t you think we should get on that?”

“You’re right. But how?”

“If only you’d got some pictures of Crowley at Crossroads,” Meg muses.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Dean theorizes. “The police already know everything about that, and they haven’t done anything about it.”

“The local police do. But we have to go higher up. Like, to the FBI.”

“You should write your story,” Cas opines.

“I’m not a credible witness.”

“Still, it could be helpful.”

“So, how do we get evidence that’s more than just connecting the dots?” Dean asks.

Cas wipes his chin with a paper towel. “I don’t know.”

“You could go back to Crossroads and get pictures of Crowley this time,” Meg suggests, though she doesn’t sound enthusiastic about the prospect.

“That’s an idea,” Dean agrees. A better plan occurs to him, and he perks up. “We could watch and record the activity around Azazel’s house.”

“No,” Meg says firmly. “Dad would catch on to that shit.”

“Maybe we could do the same around the community center? Or City Hall?”

“What about places where Azazel conducts business?” Cas ponders.

“No. You can’t do any of that,” Meg maintains. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Whatever we do is gonna be dangerous,” Dean points out.

“Then maybe it’s not worth it,” Meg grouses.

“Would you rather be a dead woman walking?”

“If it keeps you two and your family safe, yes.”

“That is very noble, Meg,” Cas cuts in. “But your position is not sustainable.”

“I know.” For some reason, Meg’s voice sounds small.

“We can figure this out later,” Dean concludes. Until this conversation, it’d been a relaxing day. He’d kind of like to just lounge around with Cas and Meg. Not really think right now. They can do that some other time. Discuss both the investigation and whatever . . . _this_ is that both he and Cas are forming with Meg.

That night, as they ready themselves for bed, he watches as Meg spreads out a blanket on the couch. His eyes meet Cas’s, and Cas nods. He knows they’re on the same page. “Meg?” Dean ventures.

Meg glances up at him. “Yes?”

“Would you like to  . . . you could sleep in our bed. With us.” He rubs the back of his neck. “There’s plenty of room.”

She eyes Cas, who nods. “We’d love to have you,” he agrees.

Meg shrugs. “I’m game.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

_After dinner, Dad informed Meg, “Your first customer is coming over in an hour.”_

_“What?” Meg squeaked as she placed her dish in the sink._

_“Don’t act like it’s a surprise,” Dad sneered. “You knew it was coming soon.”_

_“Yeah, but I thought . . .” She’d thought she’d have a little more advance notice. More than a damn hour to mentally prepare herself._

_She’d been hoping the time wouldn’t come, actually, that maybe even Azazel wouldn’t stoop so low as to pimp his own daughter._

_Which had been a dumb hope, really. For the past six years, she’d known about Dad running a prostitution ring. Ever since she was ten, he’d constantly reminded Meg of her purpose, as he saw it. “Why do you think I kept you in the first place?” he’d sometimes mention._

_“Give him what he wants,” Dad warned now. “He paid a pretty penny for your virginity.”_

_“What’s my cut?” she retorted._

_Dad slapped her, forcing her to bite her lip. She tasted blood in her mouth. “Ungrateful little bitch,” he seethed. “I house you. I feed you. I clothe you.” Yeah, you’re a real saint. She swallowed the blood._

_She retreated to her room, where she’d receive her first client. Why couldn’t Dad have cleared out his stupid office for her to use? After this, her room would never be the same._

_When the man arrived, she tried to steel herself. Alastair Badham, a member of the city council. She knew his reputation. He could be abusive during sex, she’d heard._

_She was naked, just as he’d requested, and he was fully clothed._

_She wouldn’t let him see her fear._

_“Lie down,” Alastair commanded. She obeyed then turned a steady gaze up to him. He climbed onto the bed. “Spread your legs.” She did. “Wider.” She didn’t like how far apart her legs were. It felt too vulnerable. He ran a hand down her arm, and she shivered. “Don’t worry, dear. I won’t hurt you.” His menacing tone belied his words._

_He unzipped his pants just enough for him to pull out his dick, already engorged. He aimed it toward her cunt._

_“What about . . . a condom?” she ventured, voice trembling._

_“You’re on the pill, right?” Alastair replied. She nodded. “That’s all we need.”_

_But he could have a disease. There was nothing she could do about it, though. She was trapped._

_He plunged his full length into her, no preamble, and she screamed. It was too much._

_Alastair laughed and smirked. He was the very picture of evil. “Oops. What can I say? I’m a real man.”_

_He seemed to actually enjoy watching the tears trail down her cheeks. He pulled back just to shove himself back in roughly—_

_“Meg,” a gentle voice intoned in her ear. “What’s wrong? Wake up, dammit.”_

Her eyes fly open, and she’s not in her room. “Are you all right?” Dean asks beside her.

“Just a dream,” she mutters.

“You were crying.”

Meg wipes at her cheeks. “It wasn’t a good dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 _Hell no_. But she can’t go back to sleep.

“I think I’ll be awake for a while. Wanna come to the kitchen with me?” Dean proposes.

 _Sure, why not?_ “Okay.”

As they slither out of bed, Cas stirs. “What’s going on?” he mumbles.

Dean leans over and tucks the blanket around Cas’s shoulders. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“Hmm.” His breathing evens out as he drifts off again.

Nervous, Meg follows Dean into the kitchen. She’d rather be alone with Cas than Dean. “Want some tea?” Dean questions.

“Okay.” She sits at the table, and Dean sets a teapot to boil. After he pours two cups, he carries them over to the table and places one in front of Meg. He rubs at his eyes, which look bloodshot. Did he have a nightmare, too?

“How is it?” Dean asks after she takes her first sip.

“It’s nice.”

After a minute of companionable silence, Dean prompts, “So, what’d you dream about?”

Her eyes water. “My fucking dad and . . . the first time,” she admits. Like Dean wants to hear that shit.

“When you . . . slept with someone? For money?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes widen. “Fuck.”

“It was Alastair,” she whispers.

“Double fuck.” She grins at the lame joke. “You know, my dad was kind of an asshole, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. A mean drunk.” He smiles grimly. “He wasn’t always that way, but Mom’s death ruined him.”

“How did she die?”

Dean looks mournful. “In a fire.”

Ouch. Talk about painful. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I was four.” He fidgets with the handle of his mug. “At least I didn’t have Cas’s parents.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bible thumpers. Gluttons for punishment. You know, spare the rod and spoil the child. Judgmental as fuck.”

“Like with those burns.”

“He told you about that?”

“Yeah.” She flushes at the memory.

“Huh.”

They’re quiet once again. Eventually, Meg feels herself nodding off. Dean removes the cup from her hand and guides her back to bed.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel has a lot of work to catch up on. It’s nine o’clock at night, and he’d rather be home, but he’s resolved not to leave until he has at least half of the latest essays graded.

He doesn’t understand how the situation with Meg has evolved to its current state, but he knows Dean and he are on the same page about it. They would both like to explore things with Meg, provided she’s willing. The practical side of himself is worried about it. What if it fizzles out? What if it eventually breeds resentment among them? If it doesn’t last, what will happen next?

For that matter, if it does last, what will happen? How does one navigate a relationship involving three people? Once Alastair and his network are taken down, how do they present themselves to the broader world? Do they hide it? But they can’t keep it from Sam and Jess. What will they think?

He tells himself he’s worrying about nothing. He, Dean, and Meg will just see where things are headed. They can figure out everything as it comes.

The essay he’s examining makes no sense. He rereads the latest sentence, and it still confuses him.

He sighs. He really does wish he were home, basking in the presence of Dean and pursuing his interest in Meg. His mind drifts off to the other night, when he and Dean had both wound up in a sexual situation with Meg. Watching Meg ride Dean. He’d been spent, but the sight was nevertheless arousing. How would Dean feel if the situation were reversed? Would he experience a little jealousy, even as he devoured the sight? Castiel likes the idea.—

A knock startles him from his thoughts. No one else should be around. Is it another faculty member? He’s not in the mood for idle chitchat.

After the second knock, he drags himself from his desk and cracks open the door. It’s a student.

“Ava?” Castiel voices. Noticing the tears in her eyes, he throws the door open. “Come in.”

Ava steps inside and breaks into a fit of sobs. “Dr. Novak, can I talk to you about something?” she manages.

“Of course.” He gestures at a chair. “Have a seat.”

“Can I close the door? It’s private.”

“All right,” he concedes, despite his misgivings. If someone else is in the building, and they discover he’s alone with a student, and at night, to boot, they might find it inappropriate.

Ava collapses into the chair in front of his desk, and he resumes his seat. “What’s wrong?”

“I need help,” she sniffs.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussions of prostitution. If there's anything else I should warn for, please let me know, and I'll gladly add the pertinent warning.

Ava’s face is painted with distress, and Castiel’s heart goes out to her. “What is it, Ava?”

“I’ve gotten mixed up in some really questionable shi—stuff,” Ava begins.

Castiel hopes his smile is reassuring. “No need to worry about language. What’re you mixed up in?”

“I was just trying to help my mom,” Ava gasps out between a fresh fit of sobs. “She lost her job, and she didn’t have any money. I didn’t want to drop out of college, so it seemed like a good idea. They promised me I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to, but—” She laughs desperately. “—they lied.”

A sense of foreboding erupts in Castiel’s gut. _Didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to? It sounds like something illegal._ “Who, Ava?” he asks softly.

She starts trembling. “Never mind. I can’t tell you. This is a mistake.”

Tears start to Castiel’s eyes. He doesn’t want Ava to retreat, not now. Not when he knows her life is in turmoil. He needs to help. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about that.”

Ava swipes at her cheeks. “Sorry. This is inappropriate. You’re my professor, not a counselor.”

Castiel pats her hand. “I’m glad to listen, Ava. And I’ll do what I can to help.”

Ava lunges for a tissue and blows her nose. “Okay. For the past few months, I’ve been working at Crossroads. It started small, just dancing. But dancing turned into prostitution and even drug running. Tonight, they wanted me to sleep with . . . ” She flushes. “ . . . I can’t say his name. They might kill me. But he’s someone very important. He wanted to—” She swallows. “—I can’t say it. It’s too disgusting. So I ran away . . . If they find me, I’m going to be in big trouble.” She covers her mouth with one hand.

Castiel gapes at her. Is she saying what he thinks she’s saying? Is she involved with Azazel and—

Ava shrinks. “I know. I’m a slut,” she declares, tone filled with self-loathing.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that, Ava.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

Castiel decides to take a risk, to ascertain if his suspicions are correct. “Was the man . . . was he the mayor?”

Ava gawks at him. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess.” No need to explain about the investigation. She shouldn’t be dragged into that mess.

Ava wipes her nose with the Kleenex. “I don’t know what to do now. I came to you because . . . because I didn’t know who else to turn to.” She snorts. “It’s not like any of my friends would understand. My mom’s got enough to worry about, and you . . . you just seem so kind.”

Castiel is touched by the sentiment. He meets her eyes and grins. “Thank you for coming to me, Ava. I’ll do what I can.”

“I don’t even have anywhere to go. I can’t go back to Crossroads or Mom’s house . . . they’ll find me. Guess I’ll have to sleep in the streets.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Where else is there?”

“Hmm.” Normally, he would offer to take her home. But even if Meg and Ava are running from the same thing, he won’t reveal Meg’s location to anyone without consulting her first. Besides, he doesn’t wish to put Ava in more danger. Also, as Dean would point out, they don’t have any room for her.

So how can he keep Ava safe? “Do you think you should leave town?”

Ava shakes her head. “I want to continue going to school.”

“But they’ll know you’re here, won’t they? They’ll come and take you.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

That’s news to him. He’d thought Alastair and his ilk would dare to do anything. “Why not?”

“Too public.”

“But they could follow you. They could take you on the way.”

“I guess that’s possible.” She frowns. “But an education’s the only way for me to better my situation.” After pondering the problem for a minute, she says, “I’m sneaky. How do you think I’ve evaded them this far?”

“Valid point . . . How about this? I can get a hotel room for you tonight. I’ll pay for it. It’ll give us time to mull over the situation.”

Ava’s eyes widen. “Would you?” She shakes her head. “No. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

After a moment, Ava concedes, “All right. Thank you so much, Dr. Novak.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ava follows him to the Continental, and they stay quiet as Castiel searches for an out-of-the-way hotel that’s not too seedy. In the office, Castiel hands the desk clerk his credit card and directs him to charge Ava’s entire stay on it. He needs to think of another solution fast, though. If he pays for too many nights, he and Dean will bankrupt themselves. Before he leaves, he gives Ava enough cash to buy herself some meals.

On the way back to his apartment, he grips the steering wheel tight. How is he going to explain what just happened to Dean and Meg? Still, maybe one of them will have a better idea than installing her in a hotel room.

When he steps into the apartment, Dean and Meg are staring at the television, Dean absentmindedly tapping Meg’s thigh. When he glances up at Castiel, his eyes cloud with worry. “Jesus Christ, Cas. What’s wrong?”

Is he really that obvious? Castiel plops onto the easy chair and rubs his eyes while he thinks. There’s no good place to begin. He turns to Meg and asks, “Do you know someone named Ava Wilson?”

“The name sounds familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it,” Meg answers. “Why?”

“She’s a student of mine, and she came to my office tonight . . . ”

“Oookay. So?”

“Just spit it out, Cas,” Dean demands.

“She’s in trouble,” Castiel explains. “Apparently, she’s been working at Crossroads. Tonight, she was supposed to sleep with Alastair, but instead, she ran off.”

Meg’s eyes widen. “Shit.”

“She needed a place to stay, so—”

“Don’t tell me she’s in the damn car!” Dean grouses.

“No.”

“Thank goodness. So then—”

“I got her a hotel room.”

“Seriously?” Castiel nods, and Dean sighs. “Fuck, Cas. We can’t afford that shit.”

“I know, Dean. I know. But what was I supposed to do? She needed somewhere to stay.”

“How do you know she wasn’t lying?”

Castiel stares at him, stunned at the accusation. “Why would she?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe because Alastair and his damn circle are suspicious of us?”

“They don’t know enough to be suspicious. You’re paranoid.”

“Not according to Andy.”

“What?”

“He said Azazel was keeping an eye on me.”

“When did he say that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just—”

“No, Dean. I refuse to believe whatever you’re implying. You didn’t see how distraught she was. Besides, she’s a sweet girl, and she’s always been a good student.”

“If you say so,” Dean scoffs. He addresses Meg. “You don’t believe this Ava is oh so innocent, do you?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t really know her. But what Cas told us . . . I think she’s a girl who’s just in over her head,” Meg replies.

“You believe that shit, too?” Dean spits.

Meg shrugs. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t until I’m given evidence otherwise. I would like to meet her, though. See if she’s trustworthy. Maybe she can be the key to taking them down . . . Wait, no.” Meg looks rueful. “We shouldn’t put that burden on her.”

“Maybe we should,” Dean opines.

“What? After all you just said?”

“Yeah. It could be a good test.”

“I don’t think we should endanger her further,” Castiel cuts in. “She’s already scared out of her mind.”

“And the only way she’ll get out of it, if she really is that terrified, is to bring those bastards down,” Dean argues.

Castiel releases a long sigh. “I don’t know. Should we really reveal Meg’s with us?”

“I’m up for it,” Meg states.

Castiel narrows his eyes at her. “Why?”

“I think I’m the only one who can assess her accurately.”

“But what if you realize she is lying?” Castiel doesn’t want to entertain the possibility, but he can’t discount it, either. Still, he’s sure he’ll be proven right about Ava.

“We can kill her.” Castiel gawks, stunned at the cold-blooded proposal. “Relax. I’m joking.”

“We’ll just say her only option is leaving town,” Dean suggests. “We don’t have to let on we know she’s lying. After all, we can’t support her forever, Cas.”

“I suppose that will work,” Castiel concedes.

Meg stifles a yawn. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed.”

“Yeah, it’s late,” Dean agrees.

Dean follows Castiel into the bedroom while Meg gets ready in the bathroom. After Castiel digs out a T-shirt and boxers from a drawer, he almost bumps into Dean when he turns around. He furrows his brow when he notices the soft look on Dean’s face. “What?”

Dean smiles sheepishly. “Nothin’. I just—I love it when you want to help people. So damn much.”

Castiel is perplexed. “But you didn’t want us to help Ava.”

Dean shrugs. “Just playin’ devil’s advocate. But I wouldn’t change your heart for anything.” He touches the space over Castiel’s heart. “I love it. I love you.” He leans in and gently places his lips on Castiel’s.

“Oh. Am I interrupting something?” Meg sputters. Castiel and Dean jump away from each other, and Castiel notes Meg’s blush. “It’s okay. I can sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Nah.” Dean pats the bed. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

Meg looks dubious. “If you say so.”

When Meg turns around, Castiel whispers in Dean’s ear, “I love you, too.” He’d felt a burning need to say it, yet he didn’t want Meg to hear. It might make things even more awkward right now. Dean’s eyes dance, and Castiel can’t look away.

xxxxxxxxxx

The love birds are acting all besotted right now, and it’s disgusting.

That’s what Meg tells herself, anyway. Otherwise, she’ll feel left out. Because the whole thing is so damn awkward, the obvious affection between Dean and Cas while she’s in the room. And no, she’s not fucking jealous.

Honestly, what did she expect? She ponders the matter later, while lying in bed, the men fast asleep, Cas spooning Dean, his arms tight around the man. They hadn’t started like that. When they’d settled in for the night, everyone in the bed had been close to each other, but no one had been touching. Meg had closed her eyes, attempting to fall asleep. After a long interval, the men must’ve thought she’d dozed off. She’d heard Cas mumble something to Dean then movement. Still, Meg hadn’t opened her eyes, not until it’d been for-damn-ever and she was still wide awake.

Then of course, she’d noticed the men’s entwined bodies.

So, they’d had a threesome. It had been fun and all for everyone, her included, but it didn’t mean anything, not really. How could it? She was nothing but a damn whore, and Cas and Dean had a long history with each other, one that didn’t include her.

Some idiotic part of herself, a romantic speck she hadn’t even known existed, had imagined it could be. Sure, they were making weak overtures toward her, letting her sleep in the bed, but it was probably out of pity. Or maybe guilt.

This is ridiculous. She should stop pretending. It’s time to return to the couch.

She shuffles toward the living room and unfolds the blanket sitting on the couch arm. She stretches out, covers herself with the blanket, and finally catches some sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Someone perches on the sofa, and the slight motion nudges Meg awake. She raises bleary eyes to Cas, who’s seated by her feet. “Is it morning already?” she slurs.

Cas squints down at her. “What are you doing out here?”

“What’s it look like, Clarence?” she scoffs.

“You know you’re welcome in our bed.”

Meg studies the blanket’s blue plaid pattern. “Yeah,” she grunts.

Cas reaches for her hand and squeezes. “You don’t believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“The other night . . . it wasn’t casual, Meg. Not for us. We’re not playing with your emotions.”

 _We. Us._ It just underscores how much of an outsider she is with them. She snatches her hand away and glares. “Fuck you, Clarence. Who said anything about emotions?”

Cas looks stricken. His mouth opens and closes several times, but nothing comes out. Eventually, he stands up and sweeps into the kitchen.

It’s good to have all pretenses out of the way.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Once dinner’s finished, Cas packs some leftovers to give Ava for dinner. Meg watches from the threshold between the kitchen and the living room. She flinches at the unexpected sound of Dean’s voice in her ear.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Dean asks.

Meg turns to him and rolls her eyes. “We’ve only discussed it like a million times.”

Dean massages her shoulder. She’s not sure what to think of the intimate gesture. “I’m just worried. If it’s the wrong gamble, your life’s on the line.”

“You mean _your_ life is on the line. And Cas’s.”

Dean frowns. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit!” she hisses, hoping Cas can’t hear. She’d prefer for him not to join the argument.

Dean’s eyes widen. “Huh?”

“I wish you idiots would stop pretending like you give a crap about me. You’re trying to be nice, and I appreciate it.” Actually, she despises it. Life would be easier if people would just be honest; then you’d know where you really stood, and you could plan accordingly. “But you don’t need to walk on eggshells around me.”

“We’re not—”

“Look, I get it, okay? You think you took advantage of me the other night or something. You didn’t. I knew what I was getting into.” She shrugs. “And it was fun, for what it was.”

Dean’s face reddens. “God-fucking-dammit!” he yells. Startled, Cas glances up. Dean gives him a reassuring smile, and Cas returns to his task. “Is that all it was to you? ‘Fun’?”

Meg crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t make me into the villain here.”

“How can I get it into your thick skull? We care about you.” He smirks. “Though Lord knows why.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

Dean’s expression sobers. “No. It’s not.” He cups her cheek with one hand and gazes into her eyes. “I know you’re not used to it. People caring. But you’re not gonna scare us away.” He pecks her on the lips, and she has no idea what to think anymore.

Out of the corner of her eye, she observes Cas pick up the boxed leftovers and grin at them. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Dean mumbles, winking at him and beaming in turn.

Okay, that’s weird. Cas doesn’t appear even the tiniest bit jealous of the brief kiss. In fact, he seems rather pleased.

Maybe she really should take them at their word. They’ll have their own moments between them, but that doesn’t negate whatever is developing among the three of them.

They take the Impala, Meg laying down in the backseat so no one can spot her. When they reach the hotel, Dean passes a ski mask to her. “Wear this.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Hey, we don’t want to take any chances. More than we’re already taking, anyway.”

“And you think this is the answer?” Meg scoffs. “It’ll look like I plan to rob the place.”

Cas hands her his trench coat. “You could cover your face with this.”

“That’s supposed to be less suspicious? At least with the ski mask, I’ll be able to see.”

“I’ll guide you.”

“Whatever.” She drapes the coat over her head. She steps out of the car, and Cas grabs her hand to lead her. It’s drizzling, so if worse comes to worst, perhaps she could pretend like she didn’t want to get wet. Once they’re inside, Cas pulls away the overcoat, and she’s exposed to the girl in the room.

This must be Ava Wilson. She does look vaguely familiar, but Meg doesn’t know where she’d have seen the girl. She’s been to Crossroads only a couple times in the past six months. Ava must’ve happened to be there.

Ava gasps. “That’s her!”

“Pardon?” Cas replies.

“Azazel’s daughter. He’s been looking for her.”

Meg sits in the easy chair. The room’s actually pretty nice. No surprise. Cas wouldn’t put a girl up in somewhere shady.

“Have we met?” Meg questions.

“No,” Ava answers as she sits at the desk. Cas hands her the boxed dinner, and she thanks him before addressing Meg again. “But he’s been passing your picture around and asking everyone.” She gestures at the bed and tells Cas and Dean to have a seat. “Why’d you bring your boyfriend?” she asks Cas. “And how do you know Azazel’s daughter?”

“My name is Meg,” Meg snips. She doesn’t like hearing Dad’s name, or being referred to as _Azazel’s daughter_.  It makes her blood run sharply cold.

“I will explain,” Cas responds.

“Please do, Dr. Novak.” Meg does a double take at Ava’s sarcastic tone. That’s a brazen way to talk to your professor. But maybe her situation really has made her desperate. That could strip away your inhibitions.

“We have a proposition for you.”

“Not yet,” Meg cuts in. Her eyes dart to Ava. “I want to hear your story first.” _Assess your credibility before we bring you in._

Ava’s eyes fill with tears. “I already told Dr. Novak. Don’t make me do it again. Please.”

“Is that really necessary, Meg?” Cas echoes.

“Yes.” She keeps her gaze on Ava, ensuring her expression remains dispassionate. Ava dissolves into sobs.

“I can’t,” Ava squeaks.

“Give the girl a break, Meg,” Dean beseeches.

“No.”

Dean looks stunned. “Jesus,” he mutters.

“Ava, is it?” Meg continues. Ava nods. “Go on.”

Ava sniffles some more, but after wiping her eyes with a tissue, she begins talking. “My mom. Her brother . . . he works at Crossroads. As a bartender. She lost her job at the Dodge factory. You know, the one that closed six months ago?” Meg nods. “Anyway, it’s been rough. She couldn’t find anything else. She tried so hard. Soon, we had practically nothing. She asked him if there’d be anything for her at Crossroads, but he said she was too old. I had a job at McDonald’s, but it didn’t pay much. I asked my uncle about a gig at Crossroads, and he said they’d take me as a dancer. Mom didn’t like it, but it sure paid a hell of a lot more than McDonald’s, and we needed the money.”

“Wait a minute,” Cas interrupts, eyes shining shrewdly. “I thought you had a roommate.”

“What?”

He flushes. “When I met you outside the English building. You said your roommate had a man over. Where does she come in?”

“Oh. That.” Ava’s skin turns beet red. “I couldn’t exactly tell my professor I’d just been prostituting myself.”

“Hold up,” Dean inserts. “I thought you said you were a dancer.”

Meg snorts. “It’s only a matter of time before a dancer becomes a whore.”

Ava’s eyes water again. “It was supposed to be just once, to fill in for this girl who’d been found dead.” _The one who talked after the raid at Crossroads? It must be._ “But they kept asking. When I said I couldn’t, they threatened to hurt my uncle or my mom.” She sniffs. “Then last night, when they wanted me to be with . . . the mayor . . . I bolted.”

“Why?” Meg asks.

“Why?” Ava repeats incredulously. “You should know. He’s a sexual sadist.”

Images of Alastair fucking her come to Meg’s mind, but she forces them away. She can’t afford to freeze right now. “But won’t they hurt your mom or your uncle for that?”

“Oh!” Ava’s face pales. “I hadn’t thought of that. I was just so freaked out that I . . . I ran.”

Meg can relate to that. After all, isn’t that what she’d done herself?

Ava’s eyes widen, and they remind Meg of Bambi. “Do you think everything would be all right if I went back?”

“Maybe. If it’s your only offense.” Her dad and Alastair don’t like to give second chances, but Crowley can be more forgiving, especially if a girl is pretty new.

“Do you think that’s what I should do? Go back?”

“Perhaps. But think about it. Do you really wanna do that shit forever? Because that’s what’ll happen. They’ll pull you deeper in, and when you’re too old, they’ll toss you to the curb. And you won’t be able to find another job. Ever.”

“But I’m getting my degree.”

“You won’t get it.”

“You don’t know that, Meg,” Cas counters.

“I do. Believe me, I’ve seen my share of ‘college girls,’ girls who thought they’d fund their education with a lucrative side job. Dad and Crowley eventually take all their time. If they don’t play along, they’re threatened.”

“So there’s no escape,” Ava laments. “Except death. Or to live in the shadows like you.”

“This is where our proposition comes in,” Cas asserts.

Dean stands up and strides toward Meg. He places a hand on her shoulder and whispers in her ear, “What do you think? Should we ask her?” Meg nods. Ava is obviously overwhelmed by the situation. She has dreams for her future, and even if she returns to Crossroads, it’ll only be a matter of time before she flees again. Or turns informant and trips up like the dead prostitute she’d replaced.

“How’d you like to bring them down?” Meg posits.

“Who? Your dad?” Ava asks.

“Yes. And the mayor and all of them.”

“Impossible. I mean, _it’s the mayor._ Plus, he’s got a cozy relationship with Dick Roman.”

“We’ve got a plan.” Well, more of a mission, really. But if Ava agrees, she could very well become the keystone for a workable plan.

“If you help us,” Dean declares, “we’ve got a real chance of beating them.”

“But how could I help?”

“Write down your experiences. We can add it to our evidence,” Cas proposes. “Once we have enough, we’ll send it to the FBI.”

“You could even be a mole,” Meg suggests.

Ava shivers. “A mole? Me? I’m not clever enough for that.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Dean assures her. “It’s too dangerous.”

“But you do have to go back,” Meg mentions.

“I’m not sure I can handle it.”

“Just remember that it’s temporary. If we can bring them down.”

Ava contemplates the matter before speaking again. “Okay. I’ll do it.” She eyes Cas. “And when I finish, I’ll give the account to you.”

“Okay,” Cas agrees. A smile tugs at the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, Ava.”

“I’m doing it for myself,” Ava argues.

After Ava checks out of the room, Dean drops her off near her mom’s house. Then they head home.

xxxxxxxxxx

When they arrive at the apartment, Cas leans back against the front door and beams at Dean and Meg. Dean’s heart pangs at the dark circles under Cas’s eyes. The past few weeks have been exhausting for all three of them. But for the first time in a while, Cas’s face contains nothing but pure joy, and his disheveled hair only adds to the charm. “We did it!” he exclaims.

“‘We’ didn’t do anything,” Meg observes. She’s right, of course; it’s all Ava, but she doesn’t have to burst Cas’s bubble.

“No need to be so pedantic, my thorny beauty,” Cas replies. He’s vibrating with an uneven, restrained wild energy.

Cas plants his lips on Meg’s, and Meg squeals in surprise. Dean experiences a spasm of jealousy even though he knows he shouldn’t. After all, he and Meg had fucked.

“Come here,” Cas rasps a moment later, snatching at Dean’s wrist and dragging him backward. He spins Dean around so they’re facing each other, shoves him against the door, and presses his lips and body against Dean’s. “We should celebrate,” Cas decides when they pull apart for breath. He rushes off to the kitchen.

Meg gawks at his retreating back. “Wow. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“It’s been a while,” Dean acknowledges.

“Come on!” Cas shouts from the kitchen. Dean and Meg migrate to the other room, where Cas has poured three flutes of champagne.

“Where’d you even get that?” Dean wonders about the champagne.

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s toast.” He lifts his glass and proclaims, “Here’s to giving those bastards their just desserts!”

Meg raises a questioning eyebrow at Dean, and he shrugs. He understands Cas’s excitement, but his behavior is a little over the top, especially for him. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d think Cas had started drinking earlier.

Cas clinks his glass against Dean’s and Meg’s and swallows his serving in almost one gulp.

After they finish the bottle, a make-out session ensues. He drinks his fill of both Cas and Meg, and watching Cas and Meg kiss, after the initial prickle of envy, whets his appetite for more. Though they eventually wind up in bed, they’re too tired to do more than cuddle. Dean sleeps better than he has for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I feel like this chapter isn't one of my best. :/
> 
> I'm worried that Cas might seem out of character in the last section, but to me, it's not, though it borders on being so. Sometimes it's not in character to be in character all of the time, if that makes any sense.
> 
> I estimate there are about 4 or so chapters left, give or take. (I'm bad at estimating these types of things, but I think everything might be coalescing in my head.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos, comments, and subscriptions are welcome and much appreciated. I know my pace has been slow on this one, but feedback gives me motivation. (And the more feedback, the more motivation. Not to sound whiny or anything.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual content. (Writing sexy times always makes me nervous, so hopefully the sexual scene is decent.)
> 
> I've read over this several times, but I'm tired, so I'm not sure how well I've finely tuned the chapter.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos! They're much appreciated. As always, thanks for reading!

In his Survey of American Literature class, Castiel is delighted when he spots Ava sitting at her usual desk. Although Meg had assured him Ava would be welcomed back if she seemed remorseful, Castiel had harbored doubts. While eating breakfast, he’d been afraid her murder would pop up on the news.

Once class is over, Castiel announces Ava should stay after class. After he answers questions posed by other students, he turns to Ava. They only have a few minutes until the students in the room’s next class come filing in. “Did you go back?” he asks. “Was everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Ava answers. “Meg was right.” Her expression grows wry. “Crowley said customers liked me too much not to keep me around.”

“And Alastair? Will you have to—” Castiel wonders.

“No. Thank God. Alastair even apologized. I guess that means someone out there must really like me.”

A boy flings open the door and selects a seat on the front row. Ava heads toward the exit. “Bye, Dr. Novak,” Ava calls on her way out.

xxxxxxxxxxx

“The suspect, Meg Masters, should be considered armed and dangerous,” Victor Henriksen announces. “She’s already wanted for attempted murder, and the evidence in Gordon Walker’s semi unequivocally points to her. If you see Ms. Masters, do not approach her. Call 911 and let us take care of it.”

Dean stares at the TV as he absorbs the latest news. He glances at Cas next to him on the couch and Meg in the armchair. “The law knows about Gordon Walker now,” he observes. Cas and Meg gaze back at him with solemn expressions. “Sam and Jess watch the news. They’ll ask about it.”

“Just tell them the truth,” Cas urges.

Dean trembles at the idea. What they know about Meg so far, Sam and Jess can deal with. But what will they do once they know Meg has killed someone? Will they still support harboring Meg? “I dunno,” Dean manages to scrape out.

“I can do it,” Cas offers.

“Maybe I really should turn myself in,” Meg suggests, face ashen.

Dean glares at her. “No. We’ve already been through that.”

“But I am guilty.”

“Bullshit. It was self-defense, right?” Meg nods. “Well, then,” Dean concludes.

“I told you Sam and Jess deserved to know,” Cas asserts.

Dean sighs. “Fine. Whatever. And just how are we supposed to talk about it with them?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Cas assures him.

“And what the fuck will we do if it’s too much for them?” Sam and Jess won’t be able to claim ignorance of Meg’s whereabouts if the authorities find her. Will they even agree to continue to keep Meg’s location a secret?

Not to mention Ava. What’ll she do?

‘It won’t be,” Cas opines.

On the news, Dick Roman and Alastair Badham affirm their dedication to a law and order platform. “Since I’ve started my term, our crime rate has decreased dramatically,” Alastair declares. “But as the convention center shooting shows, monsters are still out there. I’ll make sure people like them continue to get their just desserts.”

“Law and order have suffered much nationwide. Mr. Badham has done a fantastic job of reducing crime here. I vow to follow his example in Washington. I pledge to bring down the crooked politicians in our capital who turn a blind eye to crime. Who aid and abet law breakers.”

Meg scoffs. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Dean couldn’t agree more.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Meg almost asks Cas and Dean if she can hide in their bedroom, but that would make things even more awkward. This is the first time she’ll see Sam and Jess since Gordon Walker’s death. And now that she’s been announced as a suspect in Gordon’s murder, they’re going to want an explanation.

On the couch beside her, Cas squeezes her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

“How can I not worry?” Meg counters. “I’m a murderer, and now they know. If they don’t hate me, there’s something wrong with them.”

“Hey, no,” Dean replies. “It was self-defense.”

“It still doesn’t change that I killed him.”

Dean’s eyes meet hers, so earnest, and she can’t help but blush. “They’ll understand,” he asserts. He tears his eyes away and says, “Sam better not be bringing rabbit food for dinner.” Meg snorts, and Cas rolls his eyes fondly.

All three of them stiffen at the knock on the door. “It’ll be okay,” Dean tells Meg. “Just breathe.” He pats her on the back and stands up. Cas snakes an arm around her shoulder. Meg raises an eyebrow at him, and he abruptly removes the arm. He chews his lip as his eyes follow Dean.

When Dean throws open the door, Sam and Jess barge in, hands laden with takeout. They deposit the bags on the coffee table. “Really, Sam?” Dean gripes. “Olive Garden? I make better pasta than this.”

“What did you want me to get?” Sam retorts.

“Some burgers would’ve been nice.”

“I’m trying to watch my meat intake.”

“Whatever.”

Jess settles onto the sofa beside Meg and grins at her. “How’re you?”

“Fine,” Meg murmurs.

Dean returns with a bevy of bottles, and Sam drags in a kitchen chair, which he sits on while Dean passes out bottles of water and beer. “Didn’t know what you wanted,” he says to Meg as he holds out one of each toward her. “So I brought both.”

“Beer would be nice,” Meg decides.

“Thank God.” He eyes the others with disdain, glaring at their water bottles. “Everyone else is a pussy.”

Sam hands out containers of pasta and plastic forks. A bag of breadsticks circulates as they all dig in.

“So, we saw the news yesterday,” Sam begins awkwardly.

“Oh, we’re gonna jump right into how I’m a ruthless killer, are we?” Meg tosses out. Jess flinches.

“I just don’t know what to make of it. Is it true?”

“Damn right.”

Sam gapes at her. When he recovers from his shock, he addresses Dean. “Did you know about this?”

Dean winces. “I think she’s misrepresenting the situa—”

“You knew?!”

“We both knew,” Cas states firmly. “It wasn’t her fault.”

“You . . . you . . . how could you keep this from us?”

“It just didn’t come up,” Dean answers.

“Just didn’t–”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Cas pronounces. “Dean is being a hypocrite. He would be furious if the roles were reversed.”

“Of course. I’d never conceal something like that from him.”

“Can you blame me?” Dean snips.

“Dean, Jess and I are involved in this, and—”

“I understand why you didn’t tell us,” Jess cuts in. Sam scowls at her, but she barrels on. “But you should have.” She turns to Meg. “So. What’s the real story? If you don’t mind telling us.”

“No,” Meg responds. Sam and Jess deserve to know. But suddenly, she feels faint, and her hands start to shake.

Jess squeezes her hand and smiles encouragingly. “You can take your time.”

It’ll be easier to get it all out quickly. “It was an accident. I was hitchhiking, and he recognized me. He was gonna take me back to my dad. I tried to escape, but I couldn’t. Even when I got a hold of his gun, he wouldn’t back down. He attacked me, so I just shot it, and . . . ” She rubs at her eyes, hoping no one notices the half-formed tears. “And that was that.”

“I’m sorry,” Jess says. “Thanks for telling us.”

Meg studies the carpet and nods.

“Okay,” Sam begin. “We can’t do anything until we bring down Alastair and his people, obviously, and I’m not sure how we’ll fix that part, but I’ll try to think of something.”

“Maybe you should just let me rot in jail,” Meg drawls.

Sam and Jess’s ensuing silent dialogue cracks Meg up, but she maintains a stony silence. Sam scrunches his eyebrows as if he’s seriously considering the possibility. Jess glowers at him, and he widens his eyes, acting all innocent. Jess narrows her eyes at him, and his face assumes a neutral expression.

“I thought you had news from Ruby,” Dean mentions.

“Oh. Yeah,” Sam replies. “So, she and Henriksen have mostly been focusing on the convention center shooting.”

“Uh huh.”  

“They’ve been looking into the one surviving shooter, and he’s got a rap sheet a mile long. He’s a known associate of Azazel’s. They were even arrested together once, but the charges for that incident were dismissed.”

“What was the objective of the convention center shooting, anyway?” Cas inquires.

“What?”

“No one was killed. There were only minor injuries. It seems as if they deliberately avoided serious casualties.”

 “Maybe they were just bad shots?” Dean theorizes. Meg herself would’ve said the shooters were just sloppy, but maybe Cas is on to something. She’s still more inclined to agree with Dean, though.

“I don’t know,” Sam replies. “We’ll see if the investigation uncovers anything on that front. Detective Henriksen has been interrogating the shooter about his connection with Azazel, but he’s kept mum.”

“Duh. He doesn’t want to end up like the other guy,” Meg notes.

“Yeah.” Sam swallows. “Ruby told me she’s been trying to get Henriksen to put more pressure on the shooter . . . like, what she was proposing made me uncomfortable.”

“It sounded like the questionable shit from a ’70s cop show,” Jess inserts.

Cas pales. “They can’t do that. It would be unethical.”

“And taint the evidence,” Sam adds. “That’s what I told her. But I’m worried, considering Henriksen’s questionable reputation.”

“But that’s for bribery,” Dean points out.

“But it means he’s not on the straight and narrow. Y’know, sometimes I wonder if he’s feeding Ruby false information because he’s been bribed.”

“Has Ruby done any investigating on her own?”

“She says she plans to, but she doesn’t know where to start.”

“You’ll let us know if she uncovers anything?”

“Of course.”

Everyone’s finished eating, so Sam and Dean gather all the trash and leftovers. Dean insists Sam take home the leftovers because he “sure as shit will make some better Italian food later this week.”

Meg giggles inwardly. When she’d first met Dean, she wouldn’t have imagined he possessed such a domestic side, that he’d have a talent and a passion for cooking. It’s endearing.

“It was nice to see you,” Jess tells Meg before she and Sam leave.

Meg offers her a tentative smile. “You, too.” She appreciates Jess’s natural warmth. It makes her feel like she matters.

She could get used to being a member of the Winchester clan. Too bad things probably won’t end well, at least for her. But she’ll do her best to ensure all the Winchesters stay safe. The world needs people like them.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean prepares cheese manicotti for dinner, and Meg and Cas wolf down their servings as well as seconds. Dean loves how domestic everything feels right now. When they’re finished eating, Dean collects the dishes and piles them into the sink. When he turns around, he notes the pleased but sheepish expression on Cas’s face. “Hey, Cas, what’s up?” Dean asks.

Cas startles at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Care to share why you look so damn happy?”

Cas flushes and stares down into his lap. “I don’t know if I should. It’s not really a big deal, and we have serious problems to worry about.”

“We can’t do anything about them right now,” Meg points out.

“Spit it out, Cas.”

“Okay,” Cas mumbles. “It’s just.” With an index finger, he traces the edge of the kitchen table. “One of my articles has been accepted for publication in a journal. _American Literature_ , to be precise.”

“That’s awesome, Cas!” Dean exclaims. He may not be able to understand any of the academic shit Cas writes, but he’s proud of the guy. Dude’s always been ten times smarter than Dean, anyway.

“Congratulations,” Meg echoes.

Dean strides toward the table and stops beside Meg. “I think we should reward our resident scholar, don’t you?” He smirks.

Meg grins mischievously. “Oh, yes.” Good. She must’ve caught his drift.

Cas frowns. “What do you mean?” he inquires.

Meg pats his hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Clarence. Dean and I will take care of everything. Right, Dean?”

“Right,” Dean agrees. He grabs Cas’s hand and yanks him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“Where’re you taking me?” Cas mutters.

Dean drags him into the bedroom, and Meg follows. He shoves Cas onto the bed and commands, “Just sit tight.”

“What’s going on?” Cas wonders.

Meg snorts. “C’mon, Clarence, even you’re not that dense.”

Dean rummages through the drawer in the nightstand next to Cas’s side and pulls out two condoms and a bottle of lube. He holds them up and asks Meg, “This good?”

“Yep,” Meg replies.

“You take one side; I’ll take the other?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Dean lays the condoms and lube at the end of the bed then kneels beside Cas. Meg takes her position on the opposite side.

“Let’s start with this,” Meg announces as she undoes the first button of Cas’s long-sleeved white shirt. Even though it’s simple, it’s one of Dean’s favorite shirts since it hugs Cas’s torso in all the right places. Once it hangs completely open, for a second Dean thinks it’s a shame that it’ll have to come off. It perfectly frames his muscular abs. But after he reverently runs both hands over the expanse of Cas’s torso, he doesn’t hesitate to rip off the shirt and throw it to the floor. After all, if anything’s more impressive than Cas’s abs, it’s the tightly packed muscle of his shoulders and his back.

Although there’s also his hair and his eyes to consider, not to mention his thighs . . .

Fine, everything about Cas is damn gorgeous. Sometimes it still boggles his mind that Cas is his.

To his surprise, he realizes he doesn’t mind sharing him with Meg. After all, he shares Meg with Cas. But knowing that someone else appreciates Cas as much as he does . . . it’s like they get to give Cas twice the pleasure. Right now, nothing would make Dean happier.

Dean reaches for the zipper of Cas’s black slacks, but Cas stays his hand.

“No.” Dean frowns at Cas’s pronouncement. “This is for me, isn’t it?” Dean nods. “Well, in that case. I believe that you two should disrobe first.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Dean mutters.

“Fine, Clarence. If that’s what you want,” Meg huffs. With little ceremony, Meg pulls her shirt over her head and discards it. Dean examines her breasts, covered by a lacy white bra. He didn’t remember them being that small, but he admires their shapeliness, revealed when she unhooks the bra and lets it fall to floor.

“Guess we’re skipping the striptease,” Dean decides as he follows Meg’s lead. Though he and Meg shed their clothes quickly, Cas seems to devour the sight, his pupils dilating.

“Happy now?” Meg hurls.

Cas’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Very.”

Meg unzips Cas’s jeans, and Dean glares at her. He’d been hoping to do that. Meg widens her eyes in faux innocence, and Dean flips her off. She chuckles. Kneeling on the floor, Dean settles for the less sexy task of prying off Cas’s shoes and socks. He massages one foot, and Cas sighs.

“Thank you, Dean. I needed that,” Cas says. Dean gives Cas’s other foot the same treatment. Once Meg finishes shucking off Cas’s jeans and boxers, Dean’s hands travel up Cas’s closest leg up to his thigh. He nips at the very top, near the balls, and Cas’s breath hitches. When Dean draws back, he admires the incipient dark bruise. He climbs back onto the bed and pushes Cas flat on his back. He rubs his finger on Cas’s slit until his dick begins filling up. When he lets go, Cas hisses in frustration. “Gotta prep you for the good stuff,” Dean explains as he reaches for the bottle of lube.

“Don’t worry, Clarence. I got you,” Meg interjects. She migrates to the floor and positions herself between Cas’s legs. She licks over his tip, and he groans. Pure pornography. Just hearing that, Dean grows hard. Meg opens her mouth wider and bobs up and down, establishing a rhythm that makes Cas thrash wildly. Dean can’t help but stare. He palms his cock, unable to moderate his speed. “Fuck,” he grunts.

Meg abruptly pries her mouth off Cas, and Cas whimpers. “Whatever happened to prepping him?” she asks Dean.

Dean’s face heats up. “Oh. Right.” He slathers the lube over his fingers, and Meg takes Cas back into her mouth. Dean progresses slowly, inserting first one finger then two, watching Meg all the while. With the third finger, Cas moans when Dean hits that sweet spot. Cas grips a swath of Meg’s hair with one hand and holds her steady as his hips quicken their pace. He whispers, “I’m gonna . . . ”

Meg jerks out of Cas’s grasp, off of his dick, and Cas whines in disappointment. “Not yet, Clarence,” Meg chastises. She turns to Dean. “Is he ready yet?”

Dean presses Cas’s prostate again as he scissors his fingers. He notes the precum bubbling up from Cas’s tip. Fuck. He hopes Cas doesn’t come too soon. “You might have to hold him off,” he tells Meg.

Meg caps a thumb over Cas’s head. Cas’s body spasms every time Dean finds the prostate. “If you don’t want him to spill, stop with that shit,” she snaps.

Dean laughs. He can’t help it. He loves teasing Cas. Bringing him to the edge and denying him. It makes Cas fall apart just that much more when he comes. It’s a beautiful sight, and hey, it also maximizes Cas’s pleasure, so it’s a win-win situation.

“He’s ready,” Dean decides. He removes his fingers, and Cas’s ass chases the digits. Dean retrieves a condom and fits it over his length. Meg unrolls the other one over Cas’s dick.

“Fuck me, Clarence,” Meg demands breathlessly. She spreads her legs, and Cas plunges inside her. She moans.

Damn. Precum drips out of Dean’s dick. He aims it at Cas’s ass and, with no warning, dives in.

“Fuck,” Cas sighs. Over Cas’s shoulder, Dean notes how his eyelids flutter. Underneath the hand clasped to Cas’s shoulder, he feels the fine tremor of muscle.

“You like that?” Dean whispers into Cas’s ear, biting the lobe and dipping into the hole with his tongue. Cas nods.

“Come here,” Meg commands. She cups Cas’s face with both hands and presses her lips to his. Cas insinuates his tongue into Meg’s mouth. Damn. Dean wants to kiss Cas, too, but he can’t at this angle. He tells himself there’ll be plenty of time later.

Dean skims his teeth down Cas’s neck and sinks them into the shoulder. He grins when he tastes blood. That’ll definitely leave a mark.

He lets Cas set the pace for a while. He pushes into Meg then falls back against Dean, hips moving ever more rapidly. Seeing Cas give himself so fully to debauchery, it’s just . . . fuck. It’s so damn arousing, and Dean eventually just has to move.

He times his thrusts to Cas’s body, pushing as Cas shoves back onto him. Cas comes apart first, emptying into Meg. Dean tumbles over the edge soon after, his cock pulsing inside Cas.

When he pulls out and throws the full condom at the trash can (where Meg has already tossed hers), he realizes Cas has halfway dozed off. He meets Meg’s eyes and grins.

“Looks like we gave him a good time,” Meg comments.

“Mission accomplished,” Dean agrees. Through his hazy, post-coital mind, something occurs to him. “But you didn’t get off, did you?”

“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” She inserts a finger into her vagina.

“That’s not fair,” Dean protests. She shouldn’t have to rely on herself, not when he and Cas hadn’t. He clamors to the other side of the bed. Cas doesn’t stir. His eyes don’t even open. Dean snickers.

“What?” Meg asks.

Dean nods toward Cas. “I think it might’ve been too much for him.”

“Poor thing,” Meg remarks sarcastically.

“Here.” He re-establishes eye contact with her. “Let me.”

He seeks her clit with two fingers. When he finds it, he rubs both fingers over it, and she moans. He quickens his pace and clasps her thigh with his free hand.

“C’mon, babe,” he murmurs. “Come for me.”

That does the trick. Her body shudders, and she cries out her pleasure. She’s still panting when her body settles.

“Did you just call me ‘babe’?” she gasps out.

Did he? Shit. Was that too much? It wasn’t a betrayal of Cas, was it? Why the hell would he do that, anyway? “Don’t get used to it,” he retorts.

“Duly noted,” she mumbles.

It’s so tranquil, just laying here as they come down. His eyes slip closed.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Castiel blinks awake, early morning light filters into the bedroom through a crack between the dark blue curtains. A slanted line of sunlight traces its way from his forearm onto Dean’s freckled back and Meg’s shoulder. Still in the grip of sleep, they breathe steadily, Meg’s head pillowed on Dean’s far shoulder. Castiel smiles down at them as he recalls last night.

He’d never before given himself so fully to the pleasures of the flesh. It had been overpowering . . . intoxicating, having his body sandwiched between Dean’s and Meg’s. Sexual gratification had been inescapable. As soon as he’d withdraw his penis from Meg’s vagina, he’d thrust back onto Dean’s dick. Rapidly alternating between filling up Meg, sheathing his member in her warmth, and having Dean fill him, hitting that sweet spot. Even if he’d wished for a break, their bodies had been so close, almost melded together, making it impossible for his skin to lose contact with theirs.

It might very well have been one of the most enjoyable nights of his life. He would never have guessed that Dean and Meg could cooperate so well while making love to him.

If only this could last. Juggling a relationship among three people would be tricky. And concealment . . . with society as it is, no doubt it would be necessary, but that doesn’t make it fair. Meg deserves more than life as a secret.

But he’s getting ahead of himself. Bringing down Alastair and his circle takes top priority. When that’s finished, the three of them can see where they stand.

Still, he can revel in this moment, the now. He leans over the other two, outlining the freckles on Dean’s back with one finger. With another, he toys with a strand of Meg’s hair.

Dean’s eyes slit open. “What’re you doing, you creep?” he mumbles.

“I am not a creep,” Castiel avers.

“Watching people while they sleep is the very definition of a creep.”

“Yep,” Meg slurs.

Castiel withdraws and rises to his knees. “If you say so. In any case, I must ready myself for work.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Dean grouses.

The morning passes without incident. A lively discussion takes place in his Survey of American Literature class. Once it’s over, several students stay to ask him questions. Soon, only Ava is left.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” Ava announces.

“What is it, Ava?” Castiel responds.

Ava glances at the doorway. “It might take a while.”

“Would you like to talk about it in my office?”

Ava shakes her head. “No. It’s pretty sensitive information. If someone saw us and got suspicious, we’d be in big trouble.”

“Then how will you convey this information?”

Ava averts her eyes and clasps her hands together, nervously twisting her fingers “Would it be all right if I came home with you?”

“I will not be going home for a few hours.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got another class, anyway.”

“Okay. Meet me in front of this building at four. Then I can drive you to your house, and we’ll discuss the issue.”

“I was hoping we could go to your place. My mom’s home, and I don’t want her to overhear.”

Castiel inwardly sighs. The idea of bringing a student home makes him uneasy. But if it’s the only way he’ll learn what Ava wishes for him to know, he’ll do it. “Very well.” Two students shuffle in, and Castiel smiles at Ava. “I will see you later.”

“Thank you, Dr. Novak.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there's anything to warn for in this chapter, but if I missed something, please let me know, and I'll gladly add it.

Meg digs through a box of books Dean had brought out of storage for her. She’s already read a couple of them, and she needs a new one. Lord knows there’s only so much time she can spend staring at the TV before her brain begins to feel like it’s melting. There’s a lot of Vonnegut. Clearly, Dean’s a fan. Maybe she should try out one of his books.

She picks up _Breakfast of Champions_ and reads the blurb while dimly registering the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. Dean shuffles toward the living room, and without lifting her eyes from the book, she feels the steam wafting from his body.

“Gonna finally give Vonnegut a chance?” Dean throws out.

“Maybe.” She glances up, and her breath catches in her throat. He’s clad in nothing but a white towel, wet hair sticking up in irregular spikes. She gapes at his well-muscled chest. Not anything she hasn’t seen before, of course, but a fine specimen always deserves admiration.

They hear the lock in the front door, but they pay it no mind. It’s just Cas. “I might give this one a shot,” Meg pronounces.

“That’s a good one.”

Cas steps over the threshold, and Ava follows. Face reddening, Dean self-consciously grabs the towel below his belly button and complains, “Jesus Christ, Cas, warn a guy when you’re bringing company over.” Meg feels her own face heat up. She can only imagine what Ava thinks of the sight before her.

“My apologies,” Cas parries. “I didn’t know you’d be traipsing around halfway nude.”

“Can’t a guy do what he likes in his own damn home?”

Cas’s expression flickers, as if he wishes to acknowledge Dean has a point. But then his glare hardens. Dean scurries off to the bedroom, and Meg shoves the box of books aside.

“Have a seat,” Cas instructs Ava. She perches on the recliner, and Cas joins Meg on the couch.

“No offense, but what’re you doing here?” Meg asks Ava. Meg winces when she hears her acid tone. But it’s a fair question.

“There’s something I need to tell you guys,” Ava replies, not sounding the least bit offended.

“You couldn’t tell Cas back on campus?”

“Someone might’ve seen us.”

“Whatever.”

Hair now brushed, Dean returns to the living room, fully clothed in jeans and a plaid green shirt that brings out his eyes. They really are pretty. And Cas has those intense cerulean blue ones . . . It’s ridiculous how arresting both men’s eyes are. Why they wish to include Meg in their relationship is beyond her. Maybe it’s just novelty value. Because who in their right mind would actually want to forge more than superficial bonds with her?

Cas scoots to the middle of the sofa, and Dean squeezes in.

“Would you like something to drink, Ava?” Cas asks. Meg cuts her eyes at him because, really? This isn’t a social occasion.

“No, thank you,” Ava responds. “I need to get home soon.” She swallows. “So, I was at Crossroads last night. Working . . . And Crowley and Azazel were talking. They said something about a meeting they were planning for Friday night. At nine. They said they’d be there with Lilith Heller and the mayor and Dick Roman. It sounded like a big meeting, like they’d be talking about political campaigns and Heller Enterprises business deals and whatnot.—”

“They said all that in front of you?” Dean interrupts, skeptical.

Ava shrugs. “The dancers, the prostitutes . . . we’re like furniture. Sometimes, it’s like they forget about us when they talk.”

“It’s true,” Meg concurs. They’ll make sure no one’s around for the upcoming meeting, but when making arrangements . . . they can be indiscriminate.

“I just thought it might be something you’d like to know,” Ava finishes. She stands up and turns to Cas. “Can you take me home now? My mom’s expecting me. We really do have plans.”

“Of course,” Cas answers.

After Cas returns from dropping Ava off at her mom’s, they discuss their next move.

“I’ll go to Crossroads Friday night,” Dean asserts.

Cas glowers. “Why would _you_ go? I’ll go.”

“Who says either of you is going?” Meg snaps.

“You heard Ava,” Dean responds. “They’re having a big meeting. Everyone will be there. If we can get the scoop—”

“And you think you’re just going to waltz right in, huh?” Meg retorts. “There’ll be security.”

“I can evade them.”

“No,” Meg states firmly. “Neither of you is going.”

“But this can finally all be over,” Dean argues. “If I just get close enough, record the conversation on my phone—”

“They’ll probably recognize you. Lilith, at the very least, knows what you look like. If they catch you spying, they’ll be ruthless—”

“Which is why I should go,” Cas counters. “This—everything, it needs to be over. There’s only so long we can conceal you, Meg, without someone finding out. We need enough data to justify our actions and finally bring the cabal down. This is our golden opportunity. They’re less likely to recognize me than Dean.”

“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb,” Dean objects. Cas frowns. “It’s not your kind of scene. You won’t know how to behave. They’ll be suspicious right away.”

“I’m not an idiot, Dean—”

“I didn’t say you were, but—”

“Shut up, both of you!” Meg barks. Dean and Cas jump at the sound of her voice. They turn to her and stare. “You can’t go, either of you. It’s too dangerous.—”

“I’m willing to make that sacrifice,” Cas declares.

 _I’m not. But they’re both self-martyring dumbasses. Maybe if I make an appeal involving people they care about, they’ll stop wanting to go to Crossroads._ “If you or Dean, whoever goes, gets caught, it’ll be over for all of us. Maybe even Sam and Jess.” Dean pales. _Good. It’s working._

But Dean, imbecile he is, doesn’t drop the idea. “So I’ll just be careful.” Cas opens his mouth to protest, but Dean pays him no mind. “That’s why it has to be me and not Cas.” He eyes Cas. “I’m more street smart than you, and you know it.”

Cas unconsciously licks his lips as he contemplates what to say next. It draws her attention to his mouth, makes her want to kiss him, but now’s not the time thoughts of that kind.

“I can carry my own, Dean,” Cas pronounces.

“But I—”

“You’re doing this, aren’t you?” Meg huffs. Dean and Cas nod. An uneasy feeling scratches at Meg’s gut. Whoever goes, if they’re caught, they’ll be subject to excruciating torture. Just thinking about it makes her want to burrow into a hole.

So, who’s less likely to be discovered? “Then Dean should go,” she decides.

Dean beams, but Cas narrows his eyes at her. “Why?”

“Because he’s right. Dean’s got the street smarts.”

“No amount of street smarts will help when he’s recognized.”

“But at least I won’t look out of place when I walk through the doors,” Dean points out.

“Agreed,” Meg adds.

Cas sighs. “Fine.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean keeps patting his pocket to ensure his phone is in place. He knows he’s being paranoid; it’s not like the phone’s gonna fly out of his pocket. But you can’t be too careful.

To get into Crossroads, he uses the invitation Meg gave him for the first visit. So far, so good. He avoids the room with the dancers and seeks out a small alcove to gather his bearings. He closes his eyes to block out the deafening electronic dance music and tries to remember what Meg had told him about the club’s layout.

Something brushes his back, and his eyes fly open. A red-haired woman grips his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, voice barely audible over the music.

“’S all right,” Dean mumbles. The woman has a gorgeous figure, ample breasts, legs that go on forever, emphasized by her miniskirt.

“Care for a drink?” she asks, nodding toward the nearby bar.

Shit. Would it be rude to decline? He doesn’t want to make any waves. He says the first thing that comes to mind. “You’re not my type.”

She leers at him. “Sure I’m not. I saw you checking me out.” She massages up and down his bicep.

Boy, she’s forward. Once upon a time, long ago, before Dad had died, Dean would be up for the offer. But he doesn’t care if he risks her making a scene; he’s not cheating on Cas and Meg—

Not cheating on Meg? Shit. Are he and Cas in a relationship with Meg? They’re not just fooling around; it’s more than that, but how do you define what the hell’s going on among them?

“So, how about a dance, cowboy?” she proposes.

He wrenches his elbow out of her grasp. “Sorry, sunshine. Gotta take a piss.” He frantically scans the surroundings. “Do you know where a bathroom is?”

“Fuck you,” she hisses before stalking off.

Well, that wasn’t too bad.

A disconcerting thought occurs to him. Is that woman a Crossroads customer, or does she work here? If she’s a prostitute, it’d explain why she was so insistent. Maybe she has to give Crowley a certain amount of money tonight or something.—

To be sure, such a situation would be disturbing, but he needs to stay on task. Once he’s got the intel, people like her and Ava won’t have to work here anymore.

He texts Cas to let him and Meg know he’s inside Crossroads. Meg would give him the floor plan only after he’d promised to check in every fifteen minutes.

Meg said the meeting room is located upstairs, only accessible by a back staircase. He skirts the edge of the crowd until he reaches the other end of the establishment. He spots the door Meg told him to look for and twists the knob. Locked. He glances at the crowd. Would anyone notice if he picked the lock? Everyone appears caught up in dancing; no one even seems to remark his presence.

He keeps an eye on the mass of people while he works on the lock and breathes a sigh of relief when he hears a telltale pop.

He slips through the door and shuts it behind him. A rickety wooden staircase looms beside him. He’ll need to be careful going up that thing.

He takes a deep breath, grabs the banister, and begins ascending. When he’s halfway up, a step squeaks. He freezes, hoping no one had heard. He should hurry, just in case anyone should appear, but only by going slowly can he prevent further noise.

It takes forever, but he eventually reaches the top. Meg said they’d be in the room at the end of the hallway to the right. He sidles down the hall and pauses at a closet next to the room in question. According to Meg, it’s got slats that face toward the room. He’ll just have to cross his fingers that no one looks inside the closet.

He steps inside, and sure enough, light filters in through a set of slats. He can make out five figures seated around a table.—Azazel, Lilith, Crowley, Alastair, Dick Roman. Yep, everyone’s here. He finds the camera app, points his phone toward the slats, and hits record.

“We could target Andy Gallagher next,” Azazel is saying. _Wait, what?_

“Why him?” Crowley asks. “I kinda like the guy.”

“I told him to keep an eye on Dean Winchester, but I don’t think he’s giving me accurate information.” _What the fuck? Andy’s been spying on me for Azazel? Or no. He’s been misleading Azazel?_

“You’ve got the next shooter lined up?” Alastair inquires.

“Yep. He’s eager. As long as his family’s taken care of, he doesn’t give a shit what happens to him.”

“Good.”

“No offense,” Dick Roman puts in, “but is this really a good plan?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Part of your campaign rests on how you’ve lowered the crime rate. If it rises now . . . ?”

“You know what happens in a crisis? People like to stick with proven leaders. Why do you think FDR stayed in office for so long? When it looks like there’s someone out to terrorize the city, a coordinated effort, and I take care of it . . . the city’ll love me all the more.”

“This better work,” Lilith grumbles. “If I lose out on the upcoming contracts with the city—”

“You won’t.”

“The gun trade’s going well,” Azazel interjects. _The gun trade? Is that what was with all those guns in the community center’s basement?_ “Almost as good as the drugs. You should expect some of those profits to be funneled into the Badham and Roman election campaigns soon.”

“And to Heller Enterprises?” Lilith puts in.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” He eyes Crowley, who looks poised to speak. “And you’ll get your share, too.”

“I better,” Crowley grouses.

“As for these Winchesters . . . how big of a threat do you think they really are?” Dick Roman asks.

“Ruby thinks Sam’s been plotting something with his brother,” Azazel answers. _Ruby? That’s Sam’s colleague at the D.A. office. The one who’s always been so gung ho about bringing down Alastair. Son of a bitch. I knew she couldn’t be as trustworthy as Sam thought._

Dick Roman addresses Alastair. “You said he was one of the best D.A.’s in the office. If he really is that good, we could have a problem on our hands.”

“Don’t worry about the Winchesters,” Lilith asserts. “We’ll take care of them.”

_Take care of them (us)? How? How much do they know? Do they know about Meg, do they suspect Cas has been working with us, are they in danger, is Jess in danger—?_

The door crashes open behind him, and Dean whips his head around. A dark figure looms in the shadows, and Dean can’t make out any of its features. He brandishes something; it looks like a—

Lightning fast, the man swerves behind Dean and wraps the rope around his neck. The phone clatters from Dean’s hand to the hardwood floor. The man starts to drag him backward, but Dean refuses to budge, even as he gasps for breath. He topples onto his ass and digs in his heels. But Dean can’t keep up the struggle for long, and soon the guy yanks him backward, and Dean drifts into unconsciousness as his feet scrabble across the floor in a last futile attempt at escape.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Castiel stares down at his phone, willing it to buzz with a new message.

“Haven’t you heard that a watched pot never boils, Clarence?” Meg comments from her spot next to him on the sofa.

“It’s been almost forty-five minutes since Dean last contacted us,” Castiel points out. “I should’ve gone with him.” Once Meg had agreed that Dean should visit Crossroads, Castiel had argued that he should accompany Dean. But Meg had retorted that it was better to have one of them stay, just in case something happened, and Castiel had known she was right. After all, that had been why he’d wanted to go by himself in the first place.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Meg gripes.

“It was our best chance to procure enough evidence to bring down your father and his associates. To get what we need so you can stop hiding.”

Meg’s stoic expression suddenly crumples. Tears stream down her cheeks, and between sobs, she gasps out, “This is all my fault.”

“Meg—”

She shakes her head, looking as if she wishes to dispel clouded thoughts. “I should’ve never got any of you involved.” Castiel places a hand on her shoulder, but she flinches away from his touch, as if burned. “I should’ve never come here,” she resumes. “You’re all good people; you don’t deserve this.—”

“You didn’t come here,” Castiel reminds her. “I brought you.”

“And I shouldn’t have let you, you stupid fuck. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? You put your whole family in danger for me. Me. I’m nothing but a damn slut.—”

“Please don’t talk about yourself like that,” Castiel beseeches. His eyes grow wet. Despite her words, he knows she’s not attacking him. It’s an expression of her own self-hatred. Until she’d met Castiel and his family, everything in her life had conspired to promote such a belief. She’d been surrounded by a cast of unsavory and twisted characters who cared only about how they could use her. But she’s a good person. She deserves better.

“But it’s true. I—”

“No, it’s not.” With one hand, Castiel wipes the moisture from his cheeks. He wraps an arm around her, and this time, she doesn’t pull away. He draws her closer and kisses her hair, her forehead. A surge of affection bursts into his heart. “I’m glad I met you. I—” His phone rings. He starts at the disruption, unsure of what he’d been about to say. He snatches the phone off the couch cushion, hoping it’s Dean with an update. But the caller is Jess. He scoots away from Meg as he presses the answer button.

“Jess?” Cas says.

“Cas!” Jess exclaims. He frowns at her frantic tone. “I tried to call Dean, but he didn’t answer.”

“Yes. He is—occupied.”

“They broke in. They got Sam, but I ran upstairs, and—I don’t know what to do, Cas, what do I do?! It’s only a matter of time before they come up here.—”

“Who broke in?”

“I don’t know! I think maybe—it’s probably related to the mayor, don’t you think? What do I do, Cas; what do I do?!”

Castiel jumps to his feet. “I’m coming over. Call the police.” Jess shrieks, and the line goes silent.

“What is it?” Meg asks, eyes wide with worry.

“I think.” Castiel runs a hand through his hair. “I think your father’s associates are at Sam and Jess’s house. I need to go.”

“You told them to call the police?” Meg scoffs. “The police are probably in on it.”

“What was I supposed to do?!”

With a loud boom, the door flies open. A group of men flood into the apartment. The man in the front directs eerily yellow eyes at Meg. “Hello, Meg,” he sibilates.

Azazel Masters. It has to be.

Castiel grabs Meg’s hand and dashes toward the door. He evades the first couple of men, but there are too many of them. Azazel seizes Meg’s wrist and yanks her out of Castiel’s grasp. Something slams into the back of his head, and all he can feel is the radiating pain before his consciousness is consumed by darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know this chapter is a little short. I estimate there are probably two chapters left and an epilogue. 
> 
> I'm not sure when the next update will be; real life is getting busier again. But I'll be working on the next chapter and post it as soon as I can. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Kudos and comments would be wonderful and encouraging. I have a hard time getting motivated to work on this fic sometimes because I don't think much of anyone is looking at it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: torture, threats of rape
> 
> Whelp, I'm pretty nervous about this chapter . . . (Among other things, I hope it doesn't feel too rushed.)
> 
> I estimate one more chapter and an epilogue.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Kudos and comments would be much appreciated.

Meg watches as Cas falls to the floor. Her eyes flit back to her dad, who grins at her like a maniac. Pleasure flickers in his yellow eyes.

“Oh, Meg, we’re going to have so much fun,” Dad intones. He tsks. “After all I’ve done for you, you dare to turn traitor? You reap what you sow, you know.”

“And so do you,” Meg retorts. Dad chortles, and she doesn’t blame him. The chips are certainly falling in his favor. Two goons grasp her wrists, one on each side. She wrenches her wrists free and shoves them away. Cas is unconscious, his arms slung around the shoulders of two men. She could make a break for it. She knows the henchmen’s tells. She probably wouldn’t make it that far, but she’d have a chance. But that would require leaving Cas here alone to endure what twisted punishments her dad can devise—and he’s got quite the imagination.

_Fuck, this is stupid. It won’t work._

She dashes toward the men with Cas and elbows them in the nose. Cas’s prone body tumbles into her arms. She tries to drag him to the front door, but she doesn’t get far.

Dad snatches Cas away from her and hurls him toward a fresh set of sidekicks. About ten of them swarm around the apartment now. How did she ever expect to get out?

Dad puts her in a chokehold, and she struggles to breathe. With her boot, she stomps on his foot, and he hisses as he momentarily loses his grip. She hates him so fucking much.—

Her hand forms a fist, and with as much force as she can muster, she slams it into Dad’s nose. Blood spurts out from his nostrils, and he wipes it away with his knuckles. “Fucking bitch,” Dad groans. He aims two punches at her face, one catching her in the eye, the other prompting her teeth to rip into her bottom lip. The first blow is so strong that blinding lights dance on the right side of her visual field.

Dad beckons a couple guys over. One pulls out a pair of handcuffs, and she’s too weary to resist. After he slaps the cuffs on her, the other man covers her mouth with duct tape. They maneuver her outside and shove her into the backseat of Dad’s car. It’d be easier for them to move her about if she were unconscious, like Cas, who they toss into the car beside her, but she knows her dad. He wants her to see everything they do. To demonstrate what her rebellion has wrought.

 _I’m sorry_ , she thinks as she draws Cas’s head into her lap. It’s hard to do with the handcuffs hampering freedom of movement, but she manages. She strokes his hair. He’s in for the nightmare of his life, and she can’t stop it. They’ve already got Dean. That’s why he hadn’t texted for so long, she knows. They’ll hurt him, too. Not to mention they’d gotten to Sam and Jess.

She’s surprised Dad doesn’t blindfold her, but once they arrive at the building, she realizes she would’ve recognized it no matter what. It’s one of Lilith’s warehouses. It belongs to her company, and Dad and his ilk use it to inflict punishment on anyone they deem an enemy. Thinking about what’ll be done to all the Winchesters, what she’ll probably watch them do to Cas, she can’t help but sniffle.

“Aw, that’s just too precious,” Dad taunts as he throws open the door beside her. She glares at him. “What? Acting like you care about anyone but yourself.” He tears the tape off her mouth, and it stings. He’ll want to hear her scream later, and there’ll be no bystanders around to detect the noise.

“I do,” she says softly.

“You keep telling yourself that, hon. You belong with us. Your sin is pretending like it could ever be otherwise.”

“Fuck you,” Meg spits through clenched teeth. Dad just throws his head back and chuckles. He really must be insane, she marvels. It’s not a new thought, but she hadn’t taken it seriously before. Greedy, violent, cruel, yes, but full-blown crazy?

No, he just loves inflicting brutality. It could be mistaken for insanity, but he’s just an evil son of a bitch.

Some of Dad’s goons drag her into the warehouse; others follow with Cas’s body. They’re taken to a small, dank room in the basement and chained to the wall. Across from her, another comatose body is also chained to the wall—Dean.

Okay, so he’s not dead at least, and it doesn’t look like much of anything has been done to him yet, though a faint bruise surrounds his neck. They must’ve wrapped a rope around it.

She doesn’t see any sign of Sam and Jess. Could they have been taken somewhere else? But why? Dad would probably love to have her watch his people hurt them, too. Perhaps they’re dead . . . but she refuses to contemplate that possibility. She can’t handle it right now.

Out of the corner of her eye, down the hallway, she spots Lilith, Crowley, and Alastair conversing in a circle. Dad joins them and leaves two men stationed outside the room where Meg, Cas, and Dean are imprisoned.

“Ah, fuck,” Dean murmurs. Meg’s gaze flies to him.

“Are you okay?” Meg asks. _Try to ask a stupider question sometime, Meg._

Dean rasps, “I think so. My head hurts a little, and my fucking neck . . . ” He tries to reach for his neck, but the chain rattles as it’s pulled as far as it can go. Dean glances at the shackles. “Shit.” He blinks a few times, shakes his head as if attempting to clear it. “Tell me this is a nightmare.”

“’Fraid not, sunshine.”

“So, they got to you . . . ” He eyes Cas beside himself. “And Cas.” _And probably Sam and Jess. Should I tell him? No, not yet. He’s got enough to handle right now._ He leans his head back against the wall. “God fucking dammit.” He closes his eyes. “They must’ve heard me on the stairs. It was actually really quiet back there, for some damn reason.”

“So they can catch idiots who think they can spy on them. Like you.”

“Yeah, yeah. But how’d they find you and Cas?”

“I dunno.” There must be a mole.

“Oh, wait. I remember. They said Ruby worked for them.”

“Sam’s colleague at the D.A. office?”

“Yeah.”

‘Shit.” _Even I didn’t know that. How much is there I don’t know? More than I would like, really. That’s why the guns in the community center were a surprise._

Dean sighs. Alastair approaches them, but Dean doesn’t open his eyes. Maybe he thinks Alastair won’t realize he’s conscious. Lilith follows him and lingers in the doorway while Alastair stalks closer. “Ah, look who’s awake,” he croaks at Dean. Dean remains silent, and Alastair kicks him in the shin. “Don’t pretend; I saw you chatting it up with that whore over there.” He gives Meg a disdainful look.

Dean’s eyes snap open, and they meet Meg’s. “Shut the fuck up, you bastard,” he counters, voice soft and firm.

Alastair laughs. “So you do talk.”

Dean turns to him with a tight smile. “Yeah, motherfucker. I _talk_. I can talk and talk and—”

Alastair slaps him. “That’s enough.”

“Fuck you,” Dean mutters. Alastair slaps him again and brandishes a knife he’d been holding behind his back. “You think that scares me?” Dean sneers.

“It should.” Dean spits on his cheek, and Alastair pastes on a chilling grin. “You’re a pretty one, you know that?” He brushes the tip of the dagger against Dean’s knee and draws it halfway up his inner thigh. “And feisty.” He turns partially toward Meg. “I like ’em feisty, don’t I, my dear?”

“Fuck you,” Meg hurls.

Alastair releases a full-throated chortle. “That’s the spirit. Hmm.” He traces the knife farther up Dean’s thigh. “How about this instead? Maybe I’ll fuck you both later.” He winks at Dean. “I’ll have you screaming on my cock in no time.”

“Nope, still not scared of you,” Dean states, voice shaking with the effort to remain steady. His expression is defiant, but vulnerability shines in his eyes. That shit’s like catnip to Alastair.

The knife finishes its migration up Dean’s leg, and Alastair nudges the tip against Dean’s groin. “We’ll see about that later.” He nods toward the room where his cronies chatter amongst themselves. “After I finish attending to business.”

Once Alastair retreats, silence ensues. Noting the fine tremor in Dean’s limbs, Meg wants to give him time to gather his bearings.

Eventually, Dean clears his throat. “Listen, I’d like to propose something.”

“What?” Meg replies.

He glances at Cas. “If, for some reason, we can’t all make it out of here—”

“Don’t say that,” Meg squeaks. Wow, could she sound more pathetic? But she’s surprised at how quickly Dean’s giving up.

“We’ve gotta consider the possibility. And if it’s between me and Cas, I want it to be Cas. Save him first.”

“Why would I do that?”

Dean examines her. “I think you know. He’s the best out of all of us, isn’t he?” He flushes. “No offense to you. And I’m not askin’ you to choose him over yourself, just—”

“I will,” Meg vows.

“Will what?”

“Choose him over myself.” _Because you’re right. Cas is the best of the three of us._

“No, don’t do that.—”

“And I’ll save him over you, if it comes to that. If you promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“You’ll save Cas over me. If it comes to that.”

Dean gapes at her. “I don’t know.—”

“Promise me,” Meg repeats firmly, licking her dry lips. “If you want me to agree.”

“Fine, okay? I promise.”

“All right, then. Cas will be the priority. I promise.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean feels guilty about it, but Cas would’ve been his priority whether or not he’d made the promise to Meg. Hell, he’ll save Cas over himself, too. But it’s not like he wouldn’t mourn Meg’s death. He’d actually miss her a great deal. He cares a lot about Meg . . . she’s like family. The realization stuns him, but it’s true.

Still, he doesn’t want Meg to ignore her own self-preservation in order to save Cas. But Meg’s stubborn; he doubts he can change her mind.

But why focus on the worst possibility? They should concentrate on finding a way out of here. Ideally, before Alastair comes back and threatens to fucking _rape_ him again, or actually does it . . .

When Alastair had pressed that knife to his thigh, images of Meg had flashed through his mind. Alastair shredding her lips that night when she’d first walked into their lives, him taking her virginity at sixteen and rubbing her face in her shock, enjoying her pain, the sick bastard—

He doesn’t doubt Alastair would be just as rough with him. Shove his damn cock in with little warning. That can’t happen; it _can’t_ , especially if he makes Meg and Cas watch—

What if Alastair does it to Cas? Dean would find some way to rip his fucking heart out; he’ll use his teeth if he has to.

Yeah, they need to hightail it outta here.

Maybe he can pick the lock on the handcuffs. He tries to finagle his hand to the keyhole, but it’s hard when both hands are attached to a wall behind him and they remain completely separated from each other. But if he can maneuver his fingers in the right way, maybe—

That’s when it hits him. Ruby’s the mole. Alastair and company had known about Sam’s involvement. So, if they’ve taken Meg and Cas captive, then perhaps they’ve taken Sam and Jess—

“Do you think they’ve gotten to Sam and Jess?” Dean asks Meg.

From beside him, a groan emanates from Cas.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims. “You awake?”

“Mmmmm.” Cas blinks rapidly. “Dean?” he murmurs. His eyes scan their surroundings. “Where are we?” He sounds like he’s still out of it.

“They got to us.”

“Who?” Cas reaches for his face, looking like he plans to rub his eyes, but the shackles bring his hands short. Cas stares at the cuffs and frowns. Lucidity gradually enters his eyes, and Dean can pinpoint the exact second when Cas finally realizes their predicament. “Oh,” he sighs.

Dean’s almost tempted to laugh at the low-key reaction, but the situation’s too serious for that. “‘Oh’? That’s it?”

Cas ignores him. “Are Sam and Jess here?”

“No. You’re sayin’ they got to them?” He flips to Meg. “You didn’t think that should’ve been the first thing you told me?”

Meg averts her eyes. “We’ve got enough to worry about, don’t you think?”

“So Sam and Jess aren’t here,” Cas concludes.

“No. What happened to them?” Dean asks.

“Just before Azazel and his men came into our apartment, Jess called. I heard her scream.” He sniffs. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“But they’re not here. That means they could’ve gotten away, right?”

“I don’t know how.”

“You’re right, Dean,” Meg cuts in. Cas glares at her. “What? It’s true. If they’d gotten Sam and Jess, they would’ve brought them here.”

“Why?” Dean inquires.

“They’d want me to watch. They . . .” Meg blushes.

What’s she saying? “You think this is all about _getting back at you_?” Dean spits.

“A little—”

“God, are you really that self-centered?”

“Dean,” Cas warns.

Footsteps approach, and someone enters the room. Dean can scarcely believe his eyes.

It’s Ava.

“Ava?” Cas ventures, squinting. “They found out about you, too? I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

Dean’s eyes meet Meg’s, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing. “Cas. She’s not—”

“She fucking set us up, that’s what,” Meg spews. Ava titters.

But why did they need Ava to lure them in when they already had Ruby?

Ava nods at Cas. “It’s surprising how dumb you can be, isn’t it, Dr. Novak? Your Ph.D doesn’t mean jackshit when it comes to reading people.”

Cas pleads, “Ava, I know they put you up to this. This doesn’t have to be your life.—”

“Are you really that thick?”

“Leave him alone,” Meg retorts.

Dean’s heart breaks as he watches understanding dawn on Cas. He likes to believe the best of people, and it’s hard for him to fathom that Ava, someone so young, one of his own students, could already be so hardened. It’s interesting to compare her to Meg, Dean thinks. Meg grew up in this damn environment, and no matter how much of an act she puts on, she’d never be as cold-hearted as Ava.

“It was too easy. I can’t believe you all fell for it.” She eyes Meg. “Even you.”

“Yeah, it’s a real headscratcher,” Meg remarks sarcastically.

Azazel slithers in behind Ava and rests a hand on her shoulder. “You did good, my sweet.”

“You let me into your apartment, just like that.” Ava snaps her fingers. “Once we had the layout, we had everything we needed.”

“You’re a fucking slimeball, you know that?” Dean shouts at her.

Ava crosses her arms in front of her chest and grins. “Really? _I’m_ the slimeball? What about what you three have been up to?”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“Gotta say, I’m lost here.”

“You know. All your threesomes.”

“What?” Dean sputters.

“It’s obvious. You all stand so damn close to each other. You wore nothing but a skinny little towel in front of Meg.”

“Yeah, ’cause she’s my roommate.”

Ava snorts. “I don’t buy your excuses.”

“You guys did _what_ now?” Azazel comments, his falsified shock the least convincing Dean has ever heard. He waggles his eyebrows.

“Our private life is none of your business,” Cas counters through clenched teeth. “Whatever we do, or don’t, we’re consenting adults.”

_Yeah, Cas, don’t need you practically confirming their suspicions here._

Ava stands on her tiptoes and brushes her lips over Azazel’s. “Is Daddy proud?” she pouts.

Azazel beams. “Daddy is damn proud, baby girl.” He massages her shoulder before firmly planting his lips on hers.

“Gross,” Meg mutters.

Azazel and Ava cackle as they sweep out of the room.

“He’s gonna throw her to the curb eventually,” Meg states. “And when he does, I’m gonna be there to smack her in the face. Tell her who the _real_ dumbass is.”

“Don’t, Meg,” Cas chides.

“What?”

“She doesn’t know any better . . . she’s just a nineteen-year-old girl. She made foolish choices, but she did what she thought was best, I’m sure. We should pity her.”

“Oh, my God, really?!”

“Gotta say, I’m with Meg on this one,” Dean chimes in. Ava clearly relished jeering at them. That’s not a poor, innocent girl who deserves their sympathy.

“That’s not nice, Dean.”

“Fuck that!” Dean screeches. Cas flinches. “Cas, not everyone’s just ‘nice’ and ‘misguided.’ You gotta live in the real world, pal.”

Cas glowers at him. “I _know_ that, Dean. My parents, Azazel, Alastair—they’re irredeemably rotten. Some people just are. But I won’t let that awareness turn me into a cynic.”

Shit. Cas really is too good for this world.

“Ah, I see someone else is awake,” Alastair intones as he enters the room. He brandishes his knife again. If he plans to pull the shit on Cas he’d done to Dean—

Alastair stalks toward Cas and stops, placing a hand on his inner thigh, stroking up to the top. Cas merely stares back at Alastair with a steady gaze, and Alastair huffs. “I’m gonna have fun with you,” he tells Cas.

“Go ahead,” Cas replies nonchalantly.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” Dean snarls.

Alastair smirks at Dean. “You really think you have any control here?” He turns back to Cas, taps the tip of the blade against Cas’s chin, and scrapes down Cas’s neck, just enough to draw blood. Cas eyes the blood and raises an unimpressed eyebrow. Alastair balls his hand into a fist and slams it into Cas’s cheekbone. Cas’s head recoils, grazing the wall, but all he does is smile grimly. Alastair aims another blow at the abdomen. Cas momentarily winces in pain, but his face quickly resumes its neutral expression. Alastair punches Cas in the gut again, with the same result.

Alastair grinds his teeth in frustration. “I’ll fucking make you sing!” he hisses. He slashes at Cas’s right side, near the stomach, and Cas’s body lurches in momentary pain. But his demeanor returns to its unaffected state, even as blood spills from the gash.

“Stop it!” Dean yells, unable to watch anymore of this charade.

Alastair grins. “Why would I?” A sniffle emanates from Meg’s direction, and Alastair turns to her. “Are you _crying_?”

“Shut up,” Meg mumbles. Her eyes glitter with unshed tears. Alastair cackles. A drop escapes from the corner of Meg’s eye. “Can we,” Meg manages. “Can’t you just kill me and let them go?” she begs. Dean’s never heard Meg sound so small.

“Tsk. You know I can’t do that.” He returns his attention to Cas and tears off a strip from the bottom of his red shirt. He holds it against the knife wound to staunch the blood flow. “Can’t have you bleeding out too soon,” Alastair explains. “We’re only just getting started.”

“Of course,” Cas says. What the hell’s wrong with him? He sounds almost eager for Alastair to torture him.

Once the blood’s dried, Alastair drops the cloth to the floor, not bothering to clean up the residual flecks clinging to Cas’s skin. “I’ll be back later,” Alastair announces before leaving the room.

Cas’s body sags against the wall, and he closes his eyes. Dean studies him, awed by how he hadn’t been fazed by Alastair. “Didn’t know you were such a badass,” Dean remarks.

“Hmm. It did hurt,” Cas admits. He opens his eyes, and a wild glint enters them. “But I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

“You tell ’em, Clarence,” Meg utters.

xxxxxxxxxxx

It heartens Castiel that Meg seems to have regained some of her spunk. They can get out of here, but to do so, they must stay strong. While Alastair’s blows hurt, they pale in comparison to years at the hands of his parents, and he can withstand them as long as he needs to. Meg and Dean have endured much during their lives, too, so he knows they can do this. They just need to realize it themselves.

“You shouldn’t let him, either,” Castiel asserts.

Dean tilts his head a fraction, considering. “Let who do what?”

“Let Alastair rattle you.”

Meg snorts. “Easier said than done,” she murmurs.

“I know. But we can hold on, just long enough until we find a way to escape—”

“There is no escape, Clarence,” Meg snaps.

Castiel gapes at her. “What? You can’t believe that.”

“It’s too late. I told you, they catch everyone eventually. It was dumb to think we could outsmart them. No one can. They’re too powerful.—”

“No, Meg. We were so close.—”

“We have to at least try,” Dean declares. But he sounds resigned, too, even defeated, as if the struggle is only a matter of course.

Castiel rests the back of his head against the wall. “We’re getting out of here,” he emphasizes. “We just need to figure out how. Any ideas?”

Dean suggests, “Maybe one of us could pretend like we need to go to the bathroom—”

“They’ll see right through that,” Meg scoffs.

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Meg argues. “Except just go down fighting.”

They lapse into tense silence. Eventually, Alastair returns, lingering on the threshold with Lilith behind him.

“Thought it was time for a check in,” Alastair announces.

“Hey, I gotta take a piss,” Dean grunts.

“You gotta take a piss?” Alastair mimics.

Dean ignores Alastair’s flippant tone. “Yeah.”

Alastair turns to Lilith and chuckles. “He says he’s gotta take a piss.” Lilith raises an eyebrow. “I think I should take the piss outta him, don’t you?”

Lilith’s smile glints like a blade. “Yes.” She leaves and returns a moment later with a bucket. They approach Dean.

“Hold his head back,” Alastair tells Lilith.

Lilith tilts Dean’s head back, and with a sinking feeling, Castiel realizes what they plan to do.

“No!” he protests just as Alastair overturns the bucket on Dean’s face. Once it’s empty, Dean coughs in an attempt to catch his breath.

“Oh, you want some of this?” Alastair taunts Castiel. Lilith retreats and comes back with the bucket full once again. Lilith grabs a tuft of Castiel’s hair and yanks his head back. They upend the bucket over his face. He can’t breathe, but he restrains the urge to sputter.

Alastair glares at him. “Impressive. But I’ll break you yet.”

“Hey, Alastair,” Meg calls. “It’s my turn, isn’t it?”

Alastair cackles. “I don’t think so, Meg. You can just sit back and watch. See what you’ve done to these men.”

“So you’re saying what you do is my fault?”

Alastair smiles. “That’s right.”

“Like hell it is,” she mutters.

Alastair strikes her, leaving an angry red welt across her cheek. Lilith giggles; then she and Alastair sweep out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Meg pronounces once they’re long gone, her voice wavering.

“For what?” Castiel asks.

“This is all my fault.”

Castiel frowns. “You know it’s not. Isn’t that what you just told Alastair?”

“It was a lie. I—” Her breath hitches. “I should’ve never dragged any of you into this.”

“Fuck that noise,” Dean growls. “This is all their fault. Your dad and Alastair and fuckin’ Lilith. Crowley and Dick Roman. _They’re_ the douchebags.”

Alastair continues to drop by periodically, often with either Lilith or Azazel trailing him. He deals blows to Dean and Castiel, with his fists and his blade, but he never lays his hands on Meg. Eventually, Meg dissolves into tears. The more Meg cries, the more gleeful Alastair becomes, the more he seems to savor hurting Castiel and Dean. Castiel withstands Alastair’s punishments impassively, but Dean can’t help snarling and lashing out with words. It ignites Alastair’s temper, but Dean just smirks, even as his eyes betray his uneasiness. As Dean’s fear grows more apparent, Alastair becomes more triumphant, as if energized.

Every time Alastair departs, Castiel attempts to use a fingernail to jigger the lock on the chains enclosing his wrists. It’s futile, but then Alastair makes a crucial mistake.

He returns and actually frees one of Castiel’s arms. It’s so he can more easily slice Castiel’s inner arm from his wrist to his elbow, which does weaken the appendage, but somehow, Castiel wills his arm to do his bidding. Alastair slaps the chain back on Castiel’s wrist. As he crows over the blood, for just a split second, he’s close enough for Castiel to reach for his clothes. He slips his hand into Alastair’s jeans pocket. To his astonishment, he finds it. The key to the handcuffs.

After Alastair leaves, Castiel tries to fit the key into the lock, but it’s difficult to do one-handed, and with a damaged limb, to boot. Meg continues to weep, and his heart aches with how inconsolable she is. But also, the breaks between Alastair’s visits grow shorter as Meg grows more visibly distressed. Alastair feeds on her anguish, and if they are going to get out of here, they need Alastair to stay away for longer periods.

“Meg,” he calls.

“What?” she whimpers.

“You have to stop crying,” Castiel says. Meg gawks at him.

“Way to be sensitive, Cas,” Dean snips.

“Meg,” Castiel repeats. “It’s what he wants. Alastair. You said it earlier. The more he watches you despair over Dean and me, the more he will do to us.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Meg retorts. “But I can’t. It’s like someone pulled the plug on a fucking dam.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel commiserates.

Meg’s eyes meet his. “I think I—I think I might love you.” She turns to Dean. “Both of you.” She speaks the words desperately, as if afraid she might not have another chance to voice them.

Dean stares at her, wide-eyed. Castiel licks his lips as he tries to think of a response. “Meg, I—” he begins, but before he can say anything, Alastair and Lilith come tromping in. They stop next to Dean.

He traces Dean’s thigh with the knife and stops just above his crotch. “I think it’s time I had my way with you, hmm?”

“Me, too,” Lilith adds.

“Yes, you can go next,” Alastair confirms impatiently as he unbuttons Dean’s jeans. Castiel can scarcely believe what he’s witnessing. Yes, Alastair had made veiled sexual threats toward Dean and Castiel, and he’d caught Alastair lasciviously raking his eyes over Dean’s body several times. But actually acting on those threats, those desires . . .  It shouldn’t surprise him; he should know by now that Alastair is capable of anything. But it still rattles him.

“No.” Meg chokes on the word. Then, with all her strength, she shrieks, “Alastair!” It sounds like the keening of a trapped wounded animal.

Alastair’s hand slips under Dean’s waistband, and terror dances in Dean’s eyes even as he tries to maintain a stoic expression. Castiel hurriedly tries to manipulate the key into the lock; he needs to be free now.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a British voice roars from the doorway.

Alastair turns a crooked grin toward the newcomer. “You’re welcome to join us, Crowley.”

“I said you could rough them up a little before we disposed of them, not bloody _rape_ them,” Crowley roars.

Alastair chortles. “Of all the shit we do, you’re gonna object to a little fucking?”

“We’ve gotta draw the line somewhere.”

Alastair laughs incredulously. The key finally slips into the lock, and Castiel brushes away the chains. He undoes the wrist and one ankle. Crowley’s eye twitches, and Castiel realizes Crowley has noticed his actions. With their attention fully on Crowley, Alastair and Lilith can’t observe Castiel, but surely Crowley will alert them.

But he doesn’t. He glares at Alastair and Lilith and hisses, “We’re done.”

Castiel snaps open the last chain and darts toward Alastair. He snatches the dagger out of Alastair’s hand and holds it to his throat. Lilith gasps.

 “Dean, Meg, and I will be leaving now,” Castiel grates out. “Or I will slit his throat.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Lilith counters.

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know about that, Lilith,” Crowley considers. “He looks a little crazed, don’t you think? I wouldn’t underestimate this one.”

“Whose side are you on, you bastard?” Lilith hurls.

“Mine.” Crowley eyes Castiel’s hands on Alastair’s throat, and only then does Castiel realize he’s already partially sliced through the skin.

Elsewhere in the building, there’s loud banging. “Hands up! Police!” a man shouts from outside the room. Everyone whips around to face the new individual. Detective Viktor Henriksen, with a bevy of police officers arrayed behind him.

Castiel doesn’t drop the knife until Henriksen has handcuffed Crowley and Lilith. Only then can he be sure where Henriksen’s loyalties lie.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the chapter for spoiler warnings.

After the EMT’s examine Dean, Cas, and Meg and patch up their injuries, the police take them to the station, where they’ll each be interviewed individually.

When they enter the lobby, they discover Sam and Jess slumped in two chairs. They stand up when they spot the new arrivals. Henriksen had assured them Sam and Jess were okay, but Dean couldn’t fully believe it, not until he saw them for himself.

“Sammy!” Dean exclaims as he rushes toward his brother to envelop him in a hug. Sam returns the tight embrace, and Dean winces when the contact ignites a spasm of pain.

Sam pulls back and frowns. “Sorry.” He studies Dean, noting the areas where Alastair’s blade had slashed his skin. “I should’ve been more careful.”

“It’s no big deal,” Dean replies.

Sam’s eyes migrate to the other two. “Shit. What did those monsters do to you?”

“It’s a long story,” Dean sighs. He turns to Jess and wraps his arms around her. “Glad you’re safe. They told me you were screaming on the phone, and I was just . . . ”

“We’re fine,” Jess responds as she draws back.

Detective Henriksen clears his throat, and everyone turns to him. “I’ll let your family catch up.” He looks at Meg. “Ms. Masters, I’ll start with you. Follow me.”

After Meg and Detective Henriksen leave the room, Cas pipes up. “Sam, Jess. I’m glad you’re okay.” He offers a small smile. “I’ll let you have some time alone. Would you like some coffee? There’s a shop across the street.” As if on cue, Sam yawns. It’s the ass crack of dawn, and they’ve been up all night. Coffee sounds good, but Dean wants Cas to stay here.

“You don’t have to go, Cas,” Jess objects.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean echoes.

Cas examines them for a minute. “I’ll get coffee.”

“They might not even let you leave the station,” Dean points out.

Jess glances at Dean then Sam and declares, “They will if we let someone escort us.” She grins at Cas. “C’mon, Cas.” She grabs Cas’s hand and drags him out of the room.

“Guess they wanted to give us some brotherly time,” Sam concludes awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Dean grunts as they settle into the chairs. “So, what happened to you and Jess? Did Alastair’s guys—”

“Yeah. Azazel’s, actually.”

“Same difference.”

“Uh huh. We were watching something on Netflix; I don’t even remember what. But these guys suddenly barged in. I held them off for a while so Jess could get upstairs, but there were so many of them. I watched them haul Jess back downstairs, and I knew—” Sam’s voice breaks. “—I knew it was the end for us. But then Detective Henriksen burst in. He had a lot of officers with him, and they made sure no one got away. He brought Jess and me down for statements, but we . . . I told him everything, Dean.” Sam swallows. “Detective Henriksen sent some officers to your apartment, and when no one was there, I knew Azazel’s people had gotten to you, too.” Sam’s eyes fill with tears. “I was so scared you were dead, Dean. All of you.”

“Sammy . . . ”

Sam swipes at his cheeks. “We couldn’t leave until we knew what’d happened to you and Cas and Meg.”

“How’d they find us?”

Sam shrugs. “Guess you’ll just have to ask him.” Sam narrows his eyes. “What the hell did they do to you?”

Dean shudders, remembering the events of the last few hours. Alastair, Azazel, and Lilith pummeling him and Cas, opening them up with a knife again and again, fucking waterboarding them, while Meg watched, her eyes hauntingly bleak, unable to stop weeping, blaming herself for their pain, _begging_ Alastair to kill her—Dean’s heart wrenches at the thought—and spare Dean and Cas, Alastair threatening to fuck him, hell he would’ve, if Detective Henriksen hadn’t shown up.

He guesses they should’ve trusted Henriksen from the start. Of course, hindsight is fucking twenty-twenty.

Dean closes his eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Sammy.” His hands shake, and he grips the armrests to steady them.

xxxxxxxxxx

 _I’ll let your family catch up_ , Detective Henriksen had told the Winchester clan. The words aren’t meant to sting, but they do. How pathetic is she, after everything they’ve been through, to be hurt by such a harmless pronouncement.

Despite what her dumbass sentimental heart desires, she could never belong to the Winchester family. Hell, she’d almost torn it apart. If not for Detective Henriksen’s intervention, Alastair, her dad, and Lilith would’ve eviscerated Cas and Dean inside and out. And it’s all her fault.  If she hadn’t come into their lives, they’d be safe.

“Have a seat,” Henriksen says, gesturing at a chair when they enter the white-walled room. A moment later, he drops into a seat across the table from hers. Only then does she sit.

“You know, there’s so much we could charge you with, Ms. Masters,” Henriksen begins. “Prostitution. Attempted murder. Murder. Your father is Azazel Masters. For all I know, you lured Mr. Winchester and Mr. Novak to that warehouse—”

“I would never do that,” Meg snaps.

“But I would like to make a deal. I think you’ll find it to your advantage. Your testimony against your father, the mayor, Lilith Heller, Fergus Crowley, and Dick Roman—”

“Why would you believe anything I say?”

Henriksen leans back and steeples his fingers. “I wouldn’t.”

Meg scoffs. “Then why—”

“I have been running an operation for months. We’ve been investigating those five individuals, infiltrating the ranks of their associates. We have sufficient evidence to indict all of them. But we could always use corroboration. Sam and Jessica Winchester vouch for you. I bet Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak would do the same. So I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. We’ll decline to press any charges, with the exception of Gordon Walker. But for Mr. Walker, we can reduce the charge to involuntary manslaughter. It comes with much less jail time than murder, although you deserve the higher charge—”

“It was self-defense!” Meg splutters. Why is she protesting? Henriksen’s offer is indeed generous. She should serve jail time, for her sorry excuse of a life aiding and abetting her dad if for nothing else. But for killing Gordon—the deed appalls her, but she hadn’t meant to do it.

“So you admit to it.”

“Whatever,” she mutters. “Listen. We don’t need to make a damn deal. I’ll tell you everything.”

“You will?” Henriksen marvels. “Why?”

“Because those bastards need to be brought down.”

Henriksen nods. “All right. I’ll still see what can be done about the charges. I think you deserve leniency.” _No, I don’t, not really, not when you consider how I’ve spent practically my whole life doing Dad’s bidding. That it’s my fault Dean and Cas were freakin’_ tortured _, that I almost killed them, even._ “For now, let’s talk about what happened earlier tonight. Or last night, I guess I should say.”

Meg narrates what’d occurred at the warehouse, mentioning every detail she can think of. When she recounts a particularly harrowing thing someone had done to Cas or Dean, it takes all her will to prevent herself from sobbing. God, she’s pitiful. She swears she’s cried more today than she has her entire life.

Once she’s finished her account, she asks if she can speak to her dad.

Henriksen gives her a skeptical look. “Are you sure? After what he’s just put you through?”

Her resolve hardens. “Yes.” It feels like something she needs to do.

“Okay.” They leave the room, and Henriksen passes her off to another officer, who leads her to a small, dingy room. Inside, her dad is seated at a rickety wooden table, handcuffed hands clasped together atop the table.

“Hi, Meg,” Dad utters, offering up a mocking smile.

“Can I talk to him alone?” she asks the cop beside her.

“No,” the man answers. “But I’ll be sitting over there.” He nods at a chair in the far corner. “Holler if you need anything.”

“Okay.” She scuffles toward the table and perches on the chair across from her dad.

Azazel Masters.

She tries to take in his features objectively, those yellow eyes, that sneer, the grayish brown hair. “Well?” Dad prompts. “Not even a hello for your old man?”

“Fuck you,” Meg murmurs, crossing her arms on the table. Dad throws his head back and laughs.

Now that she’s facing her father, she doesn’t know what to say. She should’ve thought this out a little more. Waited a bit longer to see him.

“That’s not very polite,” Dad pouts.

“Like I care,” Meg mutters.

Several long moments of awkward silence ensue. The cop in the corner raises his eyebrows at her, attempting to ascertain if she wants to leave. She shakes her head.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” Dad inquires.

“Don’t you?” she retorts.

Dad shrugs. “I’m not the one who called this meeting.”

“I did say you reap what you sow,” she spouts. Is that what she’d wished to tell him? She doesn’t think so.

“That you did,” Dad chuckles. He turns somber. “You know, they’ll never care for you. Not really.”

A shiver runs through her body. “What are you talking about?”

“Those men you slept with.” He pauses for a minute before grinning. “So you don’t deny it.”

“I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

“If you think they’ll ever care about you, that anyone else ever will, you’re mistaken.”

Despite how little she regards her dad’s opinion, her heart sinks. He’s probably right, but she won’t let him see that she’s rattled. “And you did?”

His tone turns earnest. “I did. I do. You’ve always been my baby girl.” Tears start to her eyes. “I did my duty as a father. I clothed you; I sheltered you; I fed you.”

“And you think that’s all a dad’s supposed to do?” Meg snarls. She dabs at her eyes. She will not cry in front of him. More composed now, she charges, “You turned me into a damn whore.”

“Prostitution is the oldest trade. Good to know for survival.”

She frowns. Is Dad telling the truth? All her life, did he really think he’d been doing what was best for her? Maybe, but he was still a shitty dad. He’d never given her more than the bare necessities. She’d had to endure life alone. To keep her dad’s criminal activities a secret, she could never make any friends, nothing more than passing acquaintances with others involved in his empire. She’d had no one to turn to for advice, for affection, for—

Love.

No. She needs to keep that damned word out of her mind.

“You ruined me,” she grits out through clenched teeth. She stands up. “I’m done with you.”

“You ungrateful traitor,” Dad spits. “You’ll regret this. You’ll see, once you’re out there. You’ll be alone.”

“I’ve always been alone.” She sweeps out of the room, the police officer by her side.

The cop directs her back to the lobby. Now she has nothing to focus on other than her stupid words back at the warehouse. _I think I might love you. Both of you._

Seriously, what the hell was wrong with her?

She sinks into a chair next to Dean. He, Sam, and Jess chat while sipping coffee. Dean picks up a cup on the end table beside him and holds it out toward her. “Here. We got you something.”

Suddenly, she realizes how bone tired she is. She accepts the offering and smiles. “Thank you.”

“Thank Cas and Jess. They bought the coffee.”

She turns to Jess. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jess replies.

Luckily, Dean doesn’t bring up what she’d said at the warehouse. Thank God for the buffer of Sam and Jess.

xxxxxxxxxx

After the interminable stay at the police station, a cop drops Meg, Cas, and Dean off by the Impala. No one speaks during the whole ride home. (Is Dean and Cas’s apartment really her home? Meg wouldn’t blame them if they wanted to kick her out soon. Now that she’s not a fugitive anymore and all. Because they sure don’t have the room for her.)

As soon as she steps inside the apartment, Meg stretches out on the couch and pulls the blanket over her body. “God, I’m tired,” she mutters. If she just goes to sleep now, maybe they can forget her dumbass words about love.

“Don’t you think we should talk about what you said at the warehouse?” Cas asks.       

If she acts ignorant, maybe he won’t pursue the subject. “What’re you talking about?”

Cas studies her. It feels like he can somehow see into her mind. “You know what I mean.”

“It was just some stupid crap I said in the heat of the moment,” she claims. She doesn’t want to examine the words too closely, whether she’d meant them or not. She’d thought they were all doomed, and suddenly, so much affection for Dean and Cas had flooded her heart, something she’d never felt before. Despair that she’d brought them to a terrible end, but even so, she’d been grateful to have met them, to have discovered, via the Winchester family, there were truly good people in this world. To have gotten to know Dean and Cas so intimately. And no, not in the sense of the sex (though it was nice to learn sex with men could involve both give and take), but in how much she’d bonded with them, in how she’d seen into their depths. Like how, underneath his tough exterior, Dean possesses a sizable well of vulnerability. And how Cas, beneath his naiveté, is not a complete ingénue, is in fact composed of robust fiber. (Which is why it doesn’t surprise her that, out of the three of them, Cas had been the one able to escape his chains.)

She’d never felt that way about anyone before. It seemed like love, and she thought maybe they deserved to know about it before everything was over.

But she hadn’t been thinking, not really. It had been such a strong sensation, and it hurt, watching them being tortured, and the words had just tumbled out.

“Was it really?” Cas replies.

“ _Yes._ Now leave me alone. I’m tired.” She closes her eyes.

“Meg—”

“Leave her alone, Cas,” Dean urges.

“Listen to your boyfriend,” Meg echoes.

Cas begins, “He’s your—”

“My what?” Meg interrupts, cracking open one eye.

“Boyfriend,” Cas responds, voice low.

She shuts the eye. “Whatever. I’m going to sleep.”

“Meg—”

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean says. Then finally, they leave her alone.

xxxxxxxxxx

“This is important, Dean,” Cas argues once they shut the door to the bedroom. Dean sits on the bed and gazes up at Cas.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t,” Dean replies. He rubs his eyes. Damn, he’s tired.

“We can’t just ignore what Meg said.”

“I know, Cas. I know.” Actually, Dean thinks it might make things a little less awkward if they could forgot about it. But they do need to establish where everything stands.

Cas perches next to him. “So what do you think?”

Dean bends down to untie his boots. “I dunno,” he mumbles as he pries off the first one. Because he actually has no fucking idea. How does he feel about Meg? He doesn’t love her, not like he loves Cas. But he doesn’t know how to classify what he does feel. Could it be the stirrings of love? All those years ago, how’d he realize he was starting to fall in love with Cas? He can’t remember. But one thing’s certain, he thinks, as he tugs off his second boot. “Regardless, she’s family.”

“Yes.” Cas frowns.

Dean straightens up and meets Cas’s eyes. “What do you think?”

Cas chews his lip. “I don’t know, Dean.”

“It’s okay if you do. Love her, that is,” Dean promises, reaching for Cas’s hand. To his surprise, it’s the truth. He wouldn’t be jealous. Well, maybe a little. But he understands. And it’s not like Cas is cheating on him because—“We’re in this together.”

“I know . . . I care about her a great deal, Dean. But I’m not sure what I feel. I don’t know if it’s strong enough to call love. Not yet.”

“Uh huh.” God, this situation is so absurd. If you’d asked Dean a few months ago whether he and Cas would let someone else into their relationship, he would’ve laughed at the ridiculousness of the notion. But now he’s seriously considering it and the implications. He doesn’t want to throw Meg aside, but how do you negotiate a situation like this?

“We should ensure we’re all on the same page,” Cas opines. “But I don’t know how to approach the topic. I don’t want to hurt her . . . and if her feelings for us are stronger than ours for her—”

“Hey, that might be the case right now, but it could change,” Dean points out.

“If Meg stays with us, I’m pretty sure it would change. At least for me.” Cas sounds so apologetic, and Dean rubs a thumb over his knuckles to reassure him.

“I think that’s true for me, too.” Dean smiles and barely suppresses a giggle. He really should get some shut-eye. His exhaustion is making him giddy. “What were you going to say to Meg, then?”

“I don’t know,” Cas admits.

“Then why’d you even bring it up to her? We needed to have this conversation first.”

“Hmm. You’re right.”

Well. Talk about an ironic moment. Cas is usually better than Dean when it comes to communication, which is no doubt why he’d attempted to discuss Meg’s words with her. But sometimes waiting a little while works better. Even if Dean is more inclined to avoid than delay serious conversations, he can admit they’re sometimes necessary. Which means they should have that awkward discussion with Meg.

Tomorrow.

Cas shucks off his shoes, and they both strip down to their undershirts and boxers. Dean stretches out on the bed, turning onto his side. His limbs ache, bruises and cuts flaring up, but he ignores them. He feels Cas lie down behind him, and that’s all he wants, Cas’s arm around him. He grabs Cas’s hand and draws it forward, their hands remaining linked while they rest atop his stomach. He leans back into Cas, and Cas tightens his grip, snuggling close, nestling his chin atop Dean’s shoulder. Dean endures twinges of pain as they adjust their positions, but the warmth of Cas’s body soothes him, and soon, he drifts off.

xxxxxxxxxx

“We need to talk,” Castiel tells Meg once he and Dean have settled on the couch. Having finally gathered his courage, he’s ready to address Meg’s words in the warehouse. Discussing the matter with Dean had been wise; now he knows what he needs to convey. Dean rests his head on Castiel’s shoulder and turns to Meg, who’s curled up in the easy chair, covered with the blanket.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be out of your hair soon,” Meg remarks.

“What?” Castiel sputters.

Dean abruptly sits up. “What’re you talking about?”

Meg shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll be in prison soon.”

“Why?” Castiel asks. Azazel Masters, of course, will be going away for a long time, as will Alastair and the rest of their circle. Why would Meg be sent to jail, though?

“Did you miss the part where I killed a guy?”

“But that was self-defense.”

“I can’t prove it. Not completely.”

“Why would they even charge you with it?” Dean inserts. “Can’t you make some sort of deal? No jail time if you cooperate?”

“I’m cooperating without it.”

“Why? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Dean,” Castiel warns. He experiences a small warm glow of pride. Meg’s doing the right thing, without a tradeoff.

“What?” Dean turns to Meg. “Whatever. I don’t think you’re going to prison.”

“Then I’ll get my own place.”

“With what money?”

“I’ll get a job. And if that doesn’t work out, I can fall back on what I do best.” A frisson of distaste passes over her face, and she flashes a bitter smile.

“What? _Whoring?_ ”

“Sure, why not?”

“Don’t you hate that shit?”

Meg contemplates the matter for a minute. “I admit, it can be brutal. Especially with johns like Alastair. But it’s not so bad. I mean, who likes their job, right?”

“I like my job,” Castiel objects. He can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than academia; he’s lucky to work in a vocation that taps into his passions.

Meg snorts. “Yeah, cause you’re a big nerd, and your job is, like, professional nerd.”

“You’re not going back to prostitution. Not unless you want to,” Dean argues, a note of uncertainty entering his voice.

“If it helps me get my own place . . . ”

“Who says you have to move out?”

“I don't need to hide anymore, and you don’t really have the room.”

“Then we can get a bigger apartment.”

“Why? You can finally get rid of me.”

“Why would we want to get rid of you?” Castiel counters. “You’re welcome to stay. We’d like you to stay.” Meg doesn’t say anything, so Castiel pushes forward. “And I don’t think you want to leave, do you? What you said at the warehouse. That you . . . love—”

“I didn’t mean that shit,” Meg retorts. “It was just one of those things you say when you’re desperate, when you think you’re about to die or something.”

“I believe the truth always comes out in such moments,” Castiel responds. “It’s okay if you feel that way.”

“I don’t,” Meg counters, glaring daggers at him.

“Meg.” Castiel reaches across the space and clasps Meg’s hand. “I understand. I may not reciprocate—” Meg flushes, and her gaze shifts to the blanket. “But I care about you. Very much.”

“You’re family, Meg,” Dean adds.

Meg’s eyes snap to him. “Family? You think _family_ is what I need? Because in my experience, family’s a fucking nightmare.”

“Azazel wasn’t your family. Not really. Family is—It’s like your ride or die.” Meg scoffs. “Listen. This is what it comes down to. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. That bastard Azazel—he was the opposite of that.”

“I don’t even think he could comprehend that,” Meg mutters.

“Uh huh. But that’s it. If you’re my family, that’s it. And you are. My family. Cas’s family. Our family.”

Meg appears to be considering Dean’s words. She surreptitiously wipes a tear from beneath her eye. Finally, she nods. Castiel squeezes her hand before releasing it.

xxxxxxxxxx

Life had gone smoothly for the past few days, considering the nightmare at the warehouse and its aftermath. The scandal with Alastair, Dick Roman, Lilith, and their association with Azazel and Crowley has been all over the news. They’ve even mentioned Castiel, Dean, and Meg and alluded to their role in bringing the conspirators down.

Still, Castiel hadn’t expected the conversation he’d just had with the head of the department.

_“You’re being put on administrative leave,” the man had announced. “The university has been getting angry calls from parents. You knowingly sheltered a fugitive, a prostitute.”_

_“I don’t see what prostitution has to do with it,” Castiel had replied._

_“It’s illegal, Dr. Novak.”_

_“And furthermore,” Castiel had barreled on, “you’ve seen the news. The attempted murder charge against Meg—Ms. Masters.” Castiel hadn’t been sure whether referring to Meg in a familiar manner would help his case, so he’d corrected himself. “—it was fabricated.”_

_“There’s still controversy about her involvement in Gordon Walker’s death.”_

_“Yes,” Castiel had acknowledged. “But she’s innocent until proven guilty in the court of law. As for parents . . . we don’t cater to them, do we? We treat our students as adults. We don’t share grades with their parents. We don’t shelter them from the world. We expose them to new world views—”_

_“I am well aware of academic freedom, Dr. Novak. But this transcends such considerations. The fact of the matter is, parents aren’t the only ones who’ve complained. Some higher-ups have questioned your suitability for employment.” He’d uttered that last sentence apologetically. “I’m afraid there’s no choice. You’ll be paid, of course. When the academic year ends, we’ll reassess.”_

The rest of the academic year. Castiel can’t fathom what he would do for the endless empty months stretching ahead of him. He can continue working on articles, but what about conferences? Would he be shut out of them?

As Castiel packs up the items he thinks he’ll need during the next few months, he wonders about these questions. Just as he finishes taping up the second box, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Castiel calls.

When the pair strolls through the door, for a minute, he forgets how to breathe.

“Mother? Father?” Castiel gasps. His father, a high-ranking general in the army, is clad in full military dress. His mother, ever the proper embodiment of high society, wears a smart tan skirt with a white blouse and a tan blazer. A string of pearls adorns her neck, and her diamond wedding ring gleams in the dim light. Her short blonde hair has been expertly styled into a fashionable bob.

“Hello, Castiel,” Mother greets him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?” Father chides.

“I was asking both of you,” Castiel responds. He hears how deferential his voice sounds. Even after all these years, he can’t address them without a submissive tone. It’s ingrained in him, and he hates it. He’d repudiated them, but only after they’d cut off all ties with him. After he’d shamed them by never reporting for duty once he’d enlisted. All his life, Father had trained him for a career in the military, as if he had no other option. But when the day came, Castiel couldn’t fulfill his parents’ expectations. He’d never wanted to join the army. He’d dreamed of a career pursuing his thirst for knowledge at a university, but he’d always known it was just a fantasy. But on that fateful day, he’d wondered, why not? It was his life; he was living it, not Father, and he didn’t want to be miserable. Always having to bow to authority, to do what he was told no matter whether he agreed with it or not.

“We’ve seen the news,” Father explains. Really? Why? They don’t live nearby. “Imagine how I felt—how we felt—when we learned our son had brought further dishonor to us. Involved himself with criminals, sheltered a prostitute.—”

“I did not involve myself with any criminals,” Castiel objects. He doesn’t like what they’re implying, that he’d engaged in morally dubious activities, that what he’d done was equivalent to the actions of Azazel, Alastair, and their associates.

“A prostitute is a criminal. And someone going to hell,” Mother injects.

“Not only that. You let that whore’s bosses capture you. You let them get the best of you,” Father asserts.

Castiel gawks at them, not believing what he’s hearing. It’s harsh, even for them. “Are you blaming me for being kidnapped?”

“It was your choice to get involved in the first place.”

“ _I didn’t do anything wrong!_ ” Castiel thunders. He firmly believes the declaration. Helping Meg escape her situation, bringing down Azazel, Alastair, and everyone else—that had been right.

“And we thought it was bad enough back when we heard you were dating a man,” Mom remarks.

Now Castiel doesn’t know what to think. It sounds like they knew he had a boyfriend long before the events on the news. “How did you know that?”

“We keep tabs on you, Castiel.”

“What? Why?”

“We need to make sure you’re not embarrassing us,” Father answers.

“Embarrassing you? How can I embarrass you? You don’t even associate with me anymore.”

“You’re depraved, Castiel,” Mother proclaims. “You always have been. Will always be. Unless you come back to the light. We’re Christian; we’re forgiving. Come with us now, shed your sinful life, and you can have a fresh start. Your father can pull some strings in the army—”

Castiel laughs bitterly. “What? Do you really think I would do that? I love the people in my life. Why would I abandon them to go with you?”

“Satan has a hold on you, my son,” Mother asserts, repeating a mantra she’d recited while he was growing up if he’d dared to defy her or Father or expressed a difference of opinion. “Do you know what an eternity in hell feels like?” There’s that question again, one he’s oh so familiar with. Out of nowhere, she whips out a lighter, snatches Castiel’s hand, and presses the flame to his inner wrist.

_Burn. She’s burning me. After all these years, they came here just to—_

Castiel yanks his hand out of her grasp and narrows his eyes at Mother and Father. “Is that why you came here? To do _that_? To lecture me?”

“You needed a lesson,” Mother replies.

“We thought we would give you one last chance,” Father puts in.

“I am not a child anymore. I don’t have to take this from you.” He infuses his voice with as much bravado as he dares. “ _Get out_.”

“Castiel—” Mother begins.

“I said _get out_!”

Mother actually flinches; then she and Father scurry away.

Castiel sighs. Mother and Father had just reminded him of how much of a failure he is, at least in their eyes. Perhaps they are right. No matter how much he tries to deny it, he can’t stop loving them, even as he resents them. For one brief second, with them here in his office, he’d hoped that maybe they could at least forge a truce. But it’ll never happen.

The burn on his wrist stings. He’ll have to be careful while picking up the boxes. He stacks one on top of the other, steps outside of his office, and with a heavy heart, locks the door. He examines it for a minute, the brass plate with his name, _Dr. Castiel Novak_ , before turning around and heading toward the exit.

“Dr. Novak!” someone shouts a few moments later. Castiel stops and peers at the speaker over the top of the second box. Krissy Chambers.

“Good afternoon, Krissy,” Castiel states.

“I heard what happened. They put you on leave?! That’s bullshit!” She reddens. “Sorry for the language. It’s just . . . it’s so unfair.”

“I’m sure administration is only doing what they think is best.”

“Well. It’s stupid. Here, let me get one of those boxes for you.”

“That’s not really nec—” but Krissy ignores him and grabs the top box.

“Where’re you parked? I’ll follow you.”

They’re silent on the way to the Continental. After Castiel unlocks the doors, Krissy opens the back door and shoves her box in. Castiel slides his in next to hers.

“Thank you, Krissy,” Castiel says.

“You’re welcome. Good luck, Dr. Novak.”

“Thank you.”

On the way home, he can’t stop thinking about his parents’ visit. But then there was Krissy’s kindness; it heartens him.

When he arrives at the complex, he hefts the first box and carries it upstairs. Inside the apartment, he finds Dean lounging on the couch.

“What’re you doing back already?” Dean asks. “You’re not supposed to be home for another hour.” He eyes the box in Castiel’s hand. “What’s that?”

Castiel places the box on the floor. “I’ve been put on administrative leave.”

“You’ve what?”

“Where’s Meg?”

“She went on a walk. Can’t really blame her for wanting to spend time outside.” Castiel nods. “But you’re avoiding the question.”

“I have one more box. I’ll be right back.”

“Cas—”

Castiel ignores him and heads outside. As he’s lugging the second box toward the stairs, Meg appears.

“Hey, Cas.” She nods at the box. “What’s that?” She follows him upstairs. In the apartment, Castiel places the box on top of the first one.

“You gonna answer my question?” Meg prompts.

“I need these items to work on my articles.”

“Don’t you do that in your office?”

Castiel collapses on the couch and covers his face with his hands. “I’ve been put on administrative leave,” he murmurs into them.

“Shit. Why?” Meg responds as she settles into the armchair.

Castiel peaks out between his fingers. “Everything on the news. They think I may’ve been . . . compromised.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you get involved with me.—”

Castiel removes his hands and allows them to hang by his sides. “I don’t regret it.” He turns to Dean. “I’ll still get paid, so you don’t have to worry about the bills.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“What’s that?” Dean inquires.

Castiel freezes. “What?”

Dean seizes Castiel’s hand and flips it over, cradling it in his lap. “This.” He taps at the skin near the burn.

“Oh. That’s nothing,” Castiel answers, attempting a reassuring smile. He doesn’t feel like talking about his parents’ surprise visit.

“That’s not nothing.” Dean holds up Castiel’s wrist, angling it toward Meg. “Look.”

“Yikes,” Meg comments.

“It’s from Alastair,” Castiel lies.

“No, I don’t think that was there earlier,” Dean argues.

“It’s not your business.”

Meg reaches across the space and places a hand on his thigh. “You didn’t do it yourself, did you?”

“No,” Castiel replies quickly. He doesn’t want them to think he’s started self-harming.

“You can tell us. Please.”

“Mother and Father,” Castiel sighs.

“But this is new,” Dean counters.

“Yes.” Dean and Meg stare at him, waiting. Their patience unnerves him, and he needs to fill the quiet. “They showed up in my office.”

“Today?” Castiel nods. “Shit,” Dean mumbles. “What for?”

“They heard about everything that happened. Apparently, they’ve been keeping track of everything I do.” Dean raises his eyebrows, and Castiel continues, “They tried to persuade me to come home with them. After bestowing me with heaping helpings of disapproval, of course.”

“And fucking burning you?”

“Yes. To remind me of hell.” Castiel snorts.

“This is your home.”

Castiel furrows his brow, confused about why Dean feels the need to specify that. “Of course it is.”

“You said they wanted you to ‘come home.’”

“To their home. I meant their home.”

Dean grins. “Good.”

Castiel mirrors his smile. “Yes. I belong here. With both of you.” Glancing at Meg, Castiel’s suddenly hit with something. Thinking of how much Dean and Meg care about him, his heart flutters. He loves them. Both of them. “I love you, Dean.” Meg shifts uncomfortably in her seat and retracts her hand, but Castiel isn’t deterred. He adds, “Meg. I love you.” Meg’s mouth falls open, and she gapes at him. “I love both of you. Very much.” He connects with Dean and Meg in different ways, but he loves them both, and he would hate to lose either of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler warnings: discussion of rape (that almost happened but didn't), discussion of torture, brief occurrence of abuse (Castiel's mother burns him with a lighter). I think that's everything; if I've missed something, I apologize. Please let me know, and I'll add the relevant warning.
> 
> I'm not sure what I think of this chapter . . . I hope it's decent at least.
> 
> The last chapter will be an epilogue taking place several months after the events in this one.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and I would greatly appreciate kudos and comments!


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: At the beginning of the chapter, Dean has a nightmare about Alastair raping him.
> 
> Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated, por favor.

_ Seven Months Later _

_Maybe I’ll fuck you both later._ As he’d pronounced the words, Alastair had donned the most grotesque grin Dean had ever seen.

_I’ll have you screaming on my cock in no time._ Dean remembers the sheer terror he’d felt at Alastair’s declaration, the way Alastair’s eyes had lasciviously scoured over his body, how Alastair had traced the blade up to his groin and pointedly eyed his crotch. Dean had felt violated, and nothing had even happened yet. Recalling the horror of Meg’s story about her first experience with Alastair, knowing he would receive the same treatment soon—

_I said you could rough them up a little before we disposed of them, not bloody_ rape _them._

Crowley’s proclamation had brought everything into sharp focus. A small part of him had still clung to some hope that it wouldn’t happen, that Alastair wouldn’t force himself on Dean, but Crowley putting it so bluntly . . . he knew there was no plausible deniability about what was about to befall him—

Then having to recount the incident in court, in grueling detail, with what felt like the whole world listening in, fucking Sammy giving him such pitying looks, Alastair’s attorneys cross-examining him about it all, subtly belittling Dean in how they’d framed their questions.—

It had been a lot.  To top it all off, he’s been having regular nightmares about Alastair. As the time for a verdict inches closer, they get worse.

_He’s chained up in the warehouse again, but this time, he’s alone with Alastair. The cold metal burns his wrists, and the sensation worsens as Alastair stalks toward him. Alastair brandishes a knife from behind his back and taps the tip against Dean’s chin._

_“Now, now,” Alastair whispers. He reaches for Dean’s shirt and undoes the top two buttons. Tethered to the wall, Dean can’t reach around far enough to shove Alastair away. As Alastair unhooks the last button and tugs Dean’s shirt open, he trails the knife down Dean’s throat, toward his Adam’s apple. Then, in one smooth swift motion, he slices Dean’s undershirt open. He flattens his palm over Dean’s chest and slides it down to his stomach. He undoes the button of Dean’s jeans, drawing them downward as he presses the knife against Dean’s throat. Blood burbles from the cut, and Alastair leans his body into Dean’s. Even through his slacks, Alastair’s hardness pokes Dean’s thigh._

_Alastair unloops his own belt and pulls down his pants and boxers. He squeezes Dean’s dick through his boxers before yanking them down and closing his hand around Dean’s naked cock. Dean wants to wrench Alastair off of him, but even if he weren’t chained to the wall, he’s too frozen to move._

_Alastair’s tip prods Dean’s asshole, and Dean can’t help whimpering, “No, please.”_

_Alastair smirks. He grunts before taking the plunge._

_Dean screams and screams and screams._

“Dean,” Cas says softly as he shakes his shoulder. “Wake up.” His voice sounds so far away. When Dean doesn’t answer, he implores more desperately, “Dean. Dean, please. Wake up.” Dean thinks he hears tears in Cas’s voice.

Dean pries open his eyes, and Cas massages his shoulder. “Was it Alastair again?” he asks quietly. Dean nods, hoping that, in the dark, Cas can’t see the tears streaming down his cheeks.  

“I’d like to slit his fucking throat,” Meg mutters from Dean’s other side. She grabs Dean’s hand and squeezes. “For the number he pulled on you.”

“On me?” Dean responds. “I’d strangle the bastard for what he did to you.” Meg shrugs, like Alastair’s treatment of her is no big deal, which, hell, no—

Cas brushes away Dean’s tears with his fingertips. So much for him not noticing. He wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulders and pulls him close, tucking his head underneath Dean’s chin, his hair tickling Dean’s skin. That, plus his solid weight along Dean’s side, comfort him. It’s like the man’s a damn security blanket.

Meg lays her head on Dean’s shoulder, strokes a hand up and down his arm before clasping his elbow. She leaves her hand there, and her presence on his other side . . . cocooned between them, he feels safe.

“Hmm.” Dean pecks Cas’s temple. “I love you, Cas.” He brushes his lips over Meg’s forehead. “I love you, Meg.” He doesn’t know when his feelings toward Meg crossed into the territory of love, and sometimes, saying those words still seems strange. Almost like a betrayal of Cas, even if he knows it isn’t. The three of them, they’re simpatico. They share something, a love that encapsulates all three of them in a bubble . . . They say two people in love fit perfectly together, like two puzzle pieces. It feels like that, but with three instead. The puzzle would feel less complete without Meg. Over the past few months, expressing love for Meg has become more regular, as has acknowledging Meg’s place with himself and Cas.

Sam and Jess have asked why Meg hasn’t moved out yet, now that she makes her own money at the Gas-N-Sip down the street. They live in a one-bedroom apartment, there’s no room for her, Sam had argued. Dean couldn’t exactly mention that Meg could function just fine in the bedroom with him and Cas. But Sam did have a point . . . Meg deserves a space for her wardrobe besides the random boxes in the living room. A two-bedroom would be good, but when he’d told Sam that, Sam had given him a strange look. _Why do you guys want to keep Meg as a roommate?_ How was Dean supposed to respond? He hates acting like his and Cas’s relationship with Meg is shameful; he doesn’t think it’s wrong. But it’s not the type of thing you can parade out in the world, and he’s afraid Sam might flip out if he knew.

Standing next to Sam, Jess had overheard the conversation. As Sam had headed off to the bathroom, Jess glanced at him shrewdly, almost as if she suspected something. But she didn’t say anything, just mumbled something about getting some water from the vending machine, and it made Dean wonder—was he being paranoid?

Whatever. The three of them will figure things out as they go.

Dean smiles as Cas and Meg murmur their “love you toos,” and he drifts off, content.

xxxxxxxxxx

The jury has been out for two days. Everyone expects them to take at least a week in their deliberations, but Meg, Cas, and Dean are constantly on edge, anticipating that every phone call will summon them back to the courtroom.

The news has been covering the scandal for the past few months, and it irks Meg every time a customer wants to interrogate her about the events. What was it like, sleeping with Alastair? A creepy, dirty man had asked her that just yesterday, licking his lips while clasping a hand to his thigh. It took all her restraint not to throw up then and there at how much the sicko got off imagining Alastair fucking her. She slapped him while spewing a string of curses. He left in a fury, and the manager had reprimanded her. “We can’t afford to lose customers,” the middle-aged woman had chided gently.

“Who the fuck needs a customer like that?” Meg had retorted. The manager’s lips had twisted with momentary mirth. But she was right. Her Gas-n-Sip was barely staying afloat, what with the larger gas stations taking over, with their made-to-order food offerings.

Meg stays quiet today, ruminating to herself. Dick Roman had appeared on the news this morning, attempting to distance himself once again from Alastair, Lilith, Azazel, and Crowley. The evidence against the quartet had been incontrovertible, but Henriksen’s dirt on Roman was murky. Much what they had concerning Roman’s involvement consisted of Meg’s allegation that she’d seen him engage in illegal activities with the others. The lawyers had ripped her credibility to shreds, though, and that’d only been in Alastair’s trial. No one else had gone up yet, except for small fry like Ava, who’s already received a prison sentence. She’ll be in for merely a few years, but it’s still enough to ruin her life. Despite Cas’s sympathy, though, Meg couldn’t bring herself to give a shit about that. Dean felt the same as her, so she didn’t really think it made her a terrible person. Other things do. Dean and Cas attempt to reassure her on that account, but it’s bullshit. She’s complicit with her father, and she knows it.

Other evidence against everyone had, surprisingly, come from Crowley. He’d turned state’s evidence in exchange for a lighter sentence. Crowley’s always been a master of self-preservation. He owns his shadiness, and somehow, that made people find him more believable than Meg. At least on the news, anyway, and she’s seen many Internet commenters excoriating her while expressing admiration for Crowley’s desire to save himself.

Presented with an idle moment, Meg straightens out the stack of candy bars by the cash register. It isn’t necessary, but she’s gotta occupy herself to keep from jumping out of her skin.

The bell rings over the door, and Meg shouts, “Welcome to Gas-n-Sip!” She winces. God, who knew she had the ability to sound so saccharine?

“Meg,” Cas calls.

Meg glances up at him. “What’re you doing here?” Maybe he got bored. Cas doesn’t have anywhere to go, not now that he’s been fired by the university. Even though no charges have been pressed against him and Dean, hell, Detective Henriksen’s even praised them both on TV, after months of deliberation, the university has decided that his conduct was inappropriate. Without Cas’s paycheck, they don’t bring in much of anything. Still, she could afford to move out, if she wanted. But she prefers staying with the men she loves, even if it makes for awkward conversations with people like Sam and Jess.

“The DA office called,” Cas answers, sounding slightly breathless. “There’s a verdict. It’ll be announced after the lunch recess.”

Shit. That’s in less than an hour. “You couldn’t call me first?”

Cas holds up her phone. “You left this at home.”

“Oh. You’re headed to court?” Cas nods. “I’m coming, too.” No way in hell is she going to miss this, no matter how much she feels like she’s gonna vomit. “Let me tell my manager.”

“Okay.”

After Meg’s been granted permission to leave, she follows Cas to the Continental parked outside. “Dean’s going, too,” Cas announces after they’ve settled and Meg has dropped her Gas-N-Sip vest onto the floorboard. She wouldn’t have thought otherwise. Dean will be headed over from the construction site. His crew is working on a new building at the county fairgrounds. Lilith’s company had won the bid for the project, but with her arrest, her company’s been dissolved. The new architects actually have a better reputation, though, and they’d originally put in a bid lower than Lilith’s. Just one more nail in the coffin for Lilith and Heller Enterprises.

After they park in the courthouse lot, Cas reaches for her hand and squeezes. Until this moment, she hadn’t noticed how much she’s been shaking. “Don’t worry,” Cas tells her. “Whatever happens, it’ll be all right.” She nods, hoping Cas’s words are true.

Inside, they find Dean seated near the front beside Sam and Jess. Cas sits next to Dean, and Meg settles on the end of the bench.

A few minutes later, the judge bangs his gavel. “All rise.” In unison, everyone stands up. The judge eyes the jury seated in its box. The foreman stands up. “Have you reached a verdict?” the judge asks.

“Yes, sir,” the foreman answers.

The bailiff picks up the envelope from the jury foreperson and carries it over to the judge. “We, the jury, find the defendant—” Meg can barely breathe. “—guilty of—.” Guilty. All of the charges, guilty, guilty, guilty. The word rings loudly in her ears; it’s all she hears, mixed in with roaring static.

Cas lays a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right,” he murmurs.

Hell, it’s more than all right. It’s fucking _amazing_. A sentence hasn’t been pronounced yet, but with all those guilty verdicts, he’s going away for the rest of his life. She should be clapping with joy. So why does she feel sick, almost like the worst isn’t over yet?

Around the courtroom, cheers break out. Dean, Sam, and Jess wear the biggest damn smiles she’s ever seen. The corner of Cas’s mouth turns up, but he eyes Meg anxiously. Her breathing sounds frantic; she focuses on it, praying for it to return to normal.

Dean turns to her and frowns. “What’s wrong? We won.”

“Uh huh,” Meg mutters.

“I think it’s just a lot for her to process,” Jess declares. She envelops Meg in a hug. Her hair smells radiant, like rose-tinged citrus. She pats Meg on the back before pulling away and meeting Meg’s eyes. “If you ever need anything . . . don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Okay,” Meg replies, even though she doesn’t think she’d ever want to impose on Jess like that.

Camera crews wait outside the courthouse. Someone guides Meg, Cas, and Dean to a side entrance so they can avoid the media circus. Dean heads for the Impala, and Meg rides home with Cas. After he pulls into the apartment complex’s parking lot, Cas turns a steady gaze toward Meg. “What’s with all the staring?” she asks.

Cas flushes. “I’m so proud of you, Meg. You helped put that awful man away.” Meg snorts. “I’m serious. All your testimony . . . you were brave.”

Meg picks at a thread on the seat. “I don’t feel brave,” she mutters. She swallows. “Sometimes, I still think one of Dad’s goons might get me even though the fucker’s rotting behind bars.”

Cas traces his index finger over Meg’s cheekbone. “Understandable.” He noses into the crook between Meg’s neck and shoulder. “None of this would’ve happened—Alastair, your father—none of them would’ve been brought down if it weren’t for you,” he murmurs. She likes how it feels when his breath brushes against her skin. “It’s remarkable. You’re remarkable.” His lips skim over Meg’s neck and stop at her lips. Just a peck, then he draws back. A small gesture of affection, and it’s adorable. “I love you, Meg.”

“I love you, too,” Meg echoes. It still feels strange saying that shit to anyone, but maintaining a relationship makes it a necessity. She doesn’t like how vulnerable the words, the love itself, make her feel, but Cas and Dean have opened themselves up to her, rendering themselves vulnerable as well. She trusts them.

xxxxxxxxxx

Castiel studies the email once again. Dr. Anna Milton’s offer is flattering, but he can’t accept it. He hits reply and stares at the computer screen.

“What’s that?” Dean asks behind him. Castiel jumps at the unexpected sound. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“It’s nothing,” Castiel answers.

Dean props his chin on Castiel’s right shoulder. “Dear Dr. Novak . . . ”

Castiel slams the laptop shut. “It’s private.”

“Was that a job offer?”

Castiel feels his face heat up. “It doesn’t matter.”

Dean stands up straight and crosses his arms over his chest. “It sounded important, Cas. What the hell was it?”

Remaining seated, Castiel glares at Dean. “None of your business.”

“If you’re gonna be accepting a job at another college, Meg and I deserve to know.”

“I’m not accepting it.”

“What? Why not?”

“It’s at the University of South Dakota, Dean. Halfway across the country. We can’t move that far.”

“Why not?”

“Are you serious? Our whole lives are here—”

“The university fired you, Cas. You need a job.”

“Sam’s helping me build a case for wrongful termination. If we win, I’ll get my position back.”

“You know how long that shit takes? Besides, do you really want to work somewhere that treated you like that?”

Castiel sighs. “I admit it’s not ideal, but we can’t uproot ourselves.”

Dean takes a few minutes to respond. “But what do we have here, Cas, really?—”

“Sam and Jess.”

Dean winces. “Yeah, I’d miss them, but we can always visit. And do you think Meg’d really want to stay in this hellhole, what with—”

“Why are you talking about me?” Meg shouts from the front door. She enters the kitchen, rips off the blue Gas-N-Sip vest, and tosses it toward the living room.

“I think Cas got a job offer,” Dean informs her.

“Oh. Do tell, Clarence.”

“It’s not important,” Castiel retorts.

“Bullshit.” Meg crosses her arms over her chest, mirroring Dean. It’s rather amusing, Meg and Dean taking similar stances on either side of him. He can’t help but smile. “What’s so funny?”

Castiel forces his expression into neutrality. “Nothing.”

“Uh huh. Now, what’s this about a job offer?”

“Anna Milton—like me, she specializes in transgressive American literature. She sent me an email saying someone’s retired and she’s convinced the university to hire me on to replace him.”

“That’s great. So what’s the problem?”

“It’s at the University of South Dakota.”

“And?”

“That’s too far.”

“This asshole,” Dean spews, gesturing at Castiel, “was just gonna turn it down without even talking to us first.”

Meg shrugs. “Well, if he doesn’t want it—”

“He does!” He glances at Castiel. “Don’t you?”

Anna Milton would be a pleasant colleague to work with, and a position at a university that unequivocally supports him would be nice, but—“That’s neither here nor there.”

“Then what the fuck?” Meg sputters. “Why would you say no?”

“I don’t want to force you and Dean to relocate—or lose you, if you decide to stay.”

“You think that’s your decision?” Meg turns to Dean and rolls her eyes. “Can you believe this moron?”

Castiel begins, “Listen.—”

“No, you listen,” Meg snaps. “You don’t have the right to assume what Dean or I would think about a big change like that. The least you can do is ask first.”

“Amen,” Dean echoes.

Castiel can’t believe Meg and Dean are ganging up on him like this. He was trying to be considerate, and they act like he’s committed an egregious sin. “All right. I’ll ask you now. What do you think about me taking a job at the University of South Dakota? Would you be willing to move there with me? Because I couldn’t handle losing you.” He eyes Dean. “Either of you.”

“I’m down if Dean is,” Meg answers.

Dean licks his lips. “I’m not gonna lie. It’s a lot . . . And I would miss Sam and Jess so damn much. But for you, I’d be willing to do it.” His green eyes meet Castiel’s in a steady gaze. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

“Really?” Castiel replies.

Dean snorts. “Don’t know why that’s such a big surprise.”

“I don’t want you to have to make that sacrifice—”

“But it’s not your decision, okay? I love you, and that’s . . . it’s what I want to do.”

Castiel can’t keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks. “I . . . thank you, Dean. I love you, too.”

“Same,” Meg mutters.

“What?” Castiel responds.

Dean chuckles, the sound so full of affection it warms Castiel’s insides. “You might have to spell it out for Mr. Lunkhead over there.”

“No, I don’t,” Meg retorts. “You just wanna hear me say sappy shit.”

“Hell, yeah, I do.”

Meg sighs with exaggerated annoyance. “Fine. I love you, too, Cas. Dean. And where you idiots go, I go.”

“Touching, Meg,” Dean remarks. “Don’t know why Hallmark hasn’t snapped you up yet.” Meg flips him the finger, and Dean laughs.

“I love you, too, Meg,” Castiel answers. He grins, heart swelling with affection. He’ll accept Anna Milton’s offer, and by the fall, he’ll start a new life in South Dakota with Dean and Meg. Negotiating public life in a polyamorous relationship will be tricky, but Dean and Meg are worth the effort.

xxxxxxxxxx

Cas bursts into the apartment and dashes toward the kitchen. “Dean! Meg!” he yells. “Come help me.”

Meg lifts her head off of Dean’s shoulder and comments, “I thought he was bringing pizza.”

“Me, too,” Dean mumbles. Tonight, they plan to marathon _The Defenders_ while gorging on pizza; Cas was supposed to buy three larges. As they amble toward the kitchen, Dean complains, “Where’s the grub, Cas? We need to start the show soon. Meg’s gotta be at the Gas-N-Sip at, like, five a.m.” When he notices the cat Cas is cradling in his hands, he exclaims, “Holy shit, Cas!”

“Get me a towel, Dean,” Cas demands.

Dean rushes to the bathroom and returns with the requested towel. Cas directs him to spread it out on the dining table; then he carefully lays the cat on top of it. “This is so unsanitary,” Dean mutters.

“Where’d you get that cat?” Meg asks.

“She was lying on the side of the road.” He gestures at a gash stretching across the cat’s side. Even with all the blood matting the fur, her silky black coat gleams. “She’s hurt.”

“Are you sure it’s not dead?” Meg questions.

“I can save her. Just do what I say.”

Meg turns to Dean. “This is one of those strays you were talking about.”

“Yep.” Only yesterday, Dean had described for her Cas’s tendency to bring home stray animals and nurse them back to health. It was bound to happen again any day now; Cas hasn’t arrived home with any wounded animals since before they’d met Meg, though Dean would bet he's helped out a few creatures without mentioning it.

“Do you think he can really save her?”

“Uh huh.” If there’s anyone Dean has total faith in, it’s Cas.

Under Cas’s tutelage, they tend to the cat. She will regain her vitality soon; Dean’s sure of it. After all, Cas saved him and Meg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to include some smut in the epilogue, but I couldn't figure out where to fit it in. I know I never answered if Meg got charged with any crime, so I'll definitively mention here that she didn't.
> 
> I've been working on this fic on and off for a year and a half. I feel like the story has suffered for it; I wouldn't be surprised if there are holes I forgot to fill in. Maybe I should've waited until I was further into the fic to start posting, but I had no idea how long it would be, and I don't think I would've finished it if I hadn't been posting updates chapter by chapter. I don't like leaving things incomplete, so the threat of having something incomplete up indefinitely motivates me to keep writing. Then again, maybe it doesn't matter because few people have been reading this fic, anyway.
> 
> I think exploring the future of these three would be intriguing. How do they balance a relationship including all three of them? Dean and Cas are publicly a couple, so Meg's presence in the relationship is a secret. How do they negotiate keeping it hidden with making her an equal partner? Ultimately, I see Cas as the one who holds the relationship together; Dean and Meg wouldn't be in a relationship with each other without him. I also headcanon Dean and Meg as being rather similar . . . that thought's originally what spurred me to want to write a Meanstiel fic. I imagine Cas continues to rescue strays (animals and people) and assist them . . . maybe Jack or Claire would be next. 
> 
> If you've read this entire fic, thank you so much. I am truly grateful. I feel like no one's really looked at it, and I apologize for sounding so pathetic, so if you read and enjoyed this story, please, please let me know. It would make me very happy. :)

**Author's Note:**

> ABD=All But Dissertation
> 
> On the up and up=American idiom for "honest"


End file.
